


These Timid Lacerations

by wrhl



Series: These Violent Delights [2]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst, Blood Kink, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Fluff, Jealousy, M/M, Murder, Regret, Roadtrip, Sequel, Serial Killer, SerialKillerAU, Smut, on the run from authority, protective!mikey, serial killer!frank, serial killer!gerard, unhealthy relationship, worried!mikey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-03-16 13:30:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 120,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3490031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrhl/pseuds/wrhl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A murder, a car trip, and just a love desperate enough to get them across the country. Gerard and Frank are at it again as murder and death trail behind them, with Gerard's poor bother Mikey following the clues to get to his "innocent" brother in time to save him from Frank. The homicidal lovers trek across America to their safe haven, killing when they desire. It was the most timid of lacerations and the most wild of times. ((Sequel to These Violent Delights))</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Neo Mickey and Mallory Knox

**Author's Note:**

> Second book to The Violent Delights Series.  
> Title from the characters Mickey and Mallory Knox from Natural Born Killers.

Gerard’s groggy eyes opened themselves, like soggy paper afraid of breaking, afraid of awakening. He did not want to step out of dreamland, even his unconscious self knew the horror of waking up. Even if Frank only existed in reality, he was hesitant. Frank was enough, just barely, to make him want to live.

Because he didn't. He existed as something better in Gerard's head. He existed as something gentle and loving and sane. He existed as he did in the mornings or when Gerard was stupid enough to pretend that they were alright. He existed as a fake little copy of himself that was not real, but Greard so wanted to be.

In Gerard's head Frank wasn't Frank but the throbbing in his heart didn't want the real one any other way.

Frank was beautiful, and he was so ugly. And that was the cause of him being beautiful. gerard didn’t want anyone perfect. He wanted someone to grow with, even if the growth was a little twisted. He had always liked the ugly, gnarled trees he saw in graveyards. He would finally become one of them.

He was not an innocent man anymore. He was barely a man. Or maybe he was more of a man. but maybe that conversation was for a different time. Right now he was focused on himself, and the fact that here and right now he was guilty. Guilty of murder, guilty of betrayal, guilty of accomplicement.

Soon, it was so soon that the newly awakened lust for murder would come and call for him. It would beckon and Frank would push him forward and hold his hand and they would slaughter. They would see red and it would calm them down. They would kiss with blood speckled lips and drive away from the scene, from a corpse, from a victim. From a person. A dead person, Gerard reminded himself.

A dead person so it would not matter anymore. They wouldn’t feel their love, they would only feel the hatred for the two. The victim would not feel anymore pain after them. Would it be a euthanization? No, not for the victim. Maybe for Gerard. Maybe it would be his medicine, his sickness and his cure. Or maybe Frank was his sickness. Maybe Frank was the bad thing about him. And maybe killing was a side effect and a drug. It was something to mull over.

But Gerard might be sick, but Gerard might be virus riddled and twisted but he would be happy. Gerard would be so happy, holding hands with Frank and he would feel all the adrenaline in his dirty heartbeat. He would be the happiest murderer around.

He would would have his happily ever after, killing and killing and killing...

But Gerard, for right now had to face the world from his slightly unexplained slumber. Maybe he was just tired. Maybe he was just worn out. He would be happy soon. That he promised himself. Frank would make him happy soon. (He neglected to think about the majority of their relationship and the results to his emotions from that.)

He let his eyes dance apart, like lovers never to return, hitting the universe in the way that they exploded, never to be seen again. Something he wished Frank and him were human enough, sane enough, selfless enough to do. It hurt to wake up, like the ache in his heart was detectable by his entire being, like the suspected that something was wrong, or something would be revealed as wrong. Maybe it was the melancholy sting of the dry debut, or maybe it was the fact that he only thought of blood. So much blood. His eyes were dry and his mind was wet, his mind was dirty, tainted. His mind was a murder scene.

Too much blood. But where had the flood been? Where was the murder victim, where was their corpse? Or was it Gerard. Was Gerard the soon to be cadaver? Was he a soon to be statistic?

He was, he knew he was. But he went willingly with his lover, loving him, calling to him with a fright in his voice that just showed how much he depended on the more pernicious man.

“Frankie?” he asked, sitting up in the darkened car. It even hurt to sit up, like the action of his eyes opening was surreal, but this was far too authentic for his body to handle. But it took even more courage to handle his current predicament and confusion without knowing Frank was there.

The air was still, stagnant and the night was dark but fairly young, getting used to its clamorously calm skin, the night lying in ripples and waves of soft screams that Gerard expected were just in his head or on the highway. The rubber tires shouted protest to the contraband humans within its skeleton, inside it's belly.

When did Gerard become contraband?

The trees passed, illuminated by damned headlights, Gerard’s damned headlights. The green was darker than what would be seen in the light, ominous and highlighted. Signs passed, the bright white and green proclaiming different markers. (Seventy miles to Ohio) Where were they going? What were they going to do? Who were they going to become?

Gerard didn’t know, hell, right then he barely knew himself. Did Frank have a plan? Would he have a plan by the morning. It was ten. Only ten at night but it seemed so much later. What happened for him to have slept so long?

Maybe it was the shock. Or maybe it was the relief. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t slept right for days and now he could actually lay his head down to rest without having to worry about anything except if Frank would murder again. Scratch that, he knew he would murder again it was just the question of who.

And maybe that was a little dangerous, the first of his worries, that it was that very thing that was so light of the man’s worries, past or present. Or maybe it just paled to the shock of the worry of if Frank would kill someone he knew. He would kill someone he knew, he knew it, he already had.

The air felt different, like the bounce of Ray’s hair had affected the atmosphere and now that it was gone so was a part of Gerard. So was Ray, dead and gone, they were the same things when Gerard was never coming home. Gerard knew, but he did not want to face it.

But now they were away, they would go far away. Far away from their troubles and their old life and Gerard could breathe easy. He would not have to face it, he would not have to own up to his problems or attend a funeral he would not have to look at the old him in the mirror, the one that still lived in Jersey, the one who had never killed and never would.

It would have been more undecided by the older man, sitting in the back seat staring at the steering wheel and the murderer’s (lover’s) hands that were on it if there wasn’t so much blood and Frank answered him with anything but silence and the flexing of his grip on the steering wheel. For a murderer, he was bad at lying. Or at least, lying to Gerard.

Truthfully reader, if Frank could read Gerard’s mind he would counter with the fact that he was a good liar (because he really was) but when it came to Gerard all of the things he was good at seemed to melt away, paling in comparison to the talent and the bombshell that was Gerard. One of the reasons that Frank kind of hated his beautiful lover.

His hands were pale on the wheel, illuminated by the blood and the neon lights on the dashboard (Seventy-Five miles per hour, The gas tank was a quarter empty. (He had filled it up before he went to go hijack Frank and start this whole escapade.)) His hands were so bloody. He was staring at the road, the only thing he registered was the road. And the silence that pounded into his head and registered as empty ringing to his eardrums. A steady hum of hatred for himself.

“Frank?” he called again to the front seat of the car where his lover was at. His heart started to race, why wasn’t Frank speaking? Why wasn’t he talking? A quick panic of the thought, “What if he isn’t even here?” went through his mind before it left, ludicrous even in its birth, and in it’s blooming, withered and died as quickly as it blossomed.

“Yes, baby?” he heard call to him from his lover after a few seconds of silence, like he could get by not answering when Gerard was freaking out. His voice was gruff, clipped, closed off from him. A brick wall built from his mistakes. Gerard was afraid to ask what was wrong. He didn’t want all those bricks to fall on him. He was already so soar.

“We're okay? Aren't we?" He asked his lover. Were they? Or were they just safe? Were they even that? Their situation was so precarious that Gerard found himself chilled to the bone. Or maybe it was just the weather itself. It was growing colder. Getting colder, the days were getting shorter. Our characters arrive to a haunting winter. Gerard shivered into himself, he was so cold and he felt so alone even though Frank gave him a hollow answer in a few seconds.

The stretch of highway between them and their old city seemed too much, too little. Gerard wished it would grow. He wished Frank would drive faster. Or at least drive into the trees that seemed to mock their progress. So then maybe he could die or go into a coma and get a break from this place that seemed to disappoint him so. But he could not leave Frankie like that, not when he was a mess, too.

“We're okay," Frank assured him in a weak voice. Like he didn't believe it himself. He couldn't. He didn’t. It was a bit of a lie for both of their sanities. Or maybe a stretch of the truth, or a denial of some facts. Whatever it was, Gerard accepted it without a word but oh so begrudgingly.

Silence ensued like a blanket of mock trust between them. Really, it was just because they didn’t want to say what they both were thinking. It was the gruff voice of a lover, sorry, breaking the bad news to Gerard, right over his head, like a plate shattering his ears and the glass.

Gerard was more awake now. He knew what Frank was getting at. He just didn’t want it. He wanted to deny it and fall asleep again but the beating in his heart and the bile rising in his throat would not allow that. He knew it was coming before it came but the feeling before and after seemed to hit him like the brick wall, He knew he did not want to smash it for his own safety.

“Um,” a clearing of the throat for the comfortable passage of shock. It would be noted as to having no effect on the damp and damned feeling of drowning the lover in the back was feeling, “I killed him. I killed Ray.”

His voice was small, shot out like the trachea of a man alone, a man abandoned. Or a man murdered. Did Ray sound like Frank did? Did he sound like his well and alive lover? No, no, impossible. He was dead. And the dead don’t speak, unless you're insane. And Gerard was not insane, not yet at least.

He found himself, with his life in tatters, lover unhinged, and best friend dead, the idea of a mental illness or psychotic break was becoming more tangible, more plausible.

Gerard was waiting for the words to come, so he could finally hear Ray’s voice again. So he could finally reach his breaking point and go insane. He knew it, in his head, but it was so much more harder to say out loud when all you could do when you said it was suffocate.

“Are you okay?” his lover ventured, meekly. He was trying to help, but the question was so nonchalant that Gerard wanted to off himself right there, sanity already starting to slip. At least with Frank it was fun, but his time, he was staring blankly out a window, trying to picture how Frank did it.

“I feel numb,” Gerard answered, truthfully, the pain had drained so he was just left tired, but in the way that he was when he slept too much. The kind of disoriented tired that made his eyelids droop and his responsibilities slack. The kind of tired that left you wide awake.

Ray was dead and so was everyone else Frank had killed. It was nothing new. It was supposed to be nothing new. But Gerard couldn’t help but feel the sting of the absence of him. He knew that Frank was a homicidal machine. It was nothing personal. Nothing personal. Nothing personal.

“I hate myself,” Gerard Way announced to his lover. If lover he be subsequent to the shattering of Gerard’s world. Frank himself did not know. Gerard had lost everything that now he was fearful even to lose the breath in his lungs. He would stay with Frank. Life was not worth living without him, anyway. The fun and the feeling went away with Frank. Or maybe it went away with Ray. Gerard couldn’t decide. He was at the wake for his words, he was more occupied with that.

His words lowered down into their grave like a person who had already moved on from life, peaceful in themselves. But he was not, only the words were. He twisted in his seat, looking further on the stars that seemed so small and so beautiful. Like he wanted to be. He wanted to be small and insignificant, but he wanted to be appreciated, at least by someone. Frank never looked at the sky.

His body hurt. Like he felt reckless and he didn’t want to anymore. There was a burning in his core that told him everything was wrong and it was totally out of his hands. And maybe it was, maybe he was just the guy that life seemed to give the finger to. That seemed entirely plausible and completely ridiculous with the impish angel that was driving the car beside him into the late night.

“Why?” Frank asked, finally, (truthfully Gerard did not know how much time had past, minutes seemed to drag on), knowing that assuring his partner in crime would be fruitless, because his opinion did not matter to the best friend of his latest victim. He was glad he had kept that inkling of sense in his brain when he threw the rest out on an agreement to run away with him.

“Because I can’t hate you,” he admitted. He shook his head, holding his lips together like a dam, the only thing holding back the flood of water. Maybe it distracted him, maybe it really was helping him stop the tears. Because as much as he wanted to, as much as he could before, every inkling of hatred for Frank had left his body. “And God,” he added in a whisper that just bled with force and earnest, “I want to hate you.”

He wanted to. He wanted to so badly be able to say he would spit and dance on Frank Iero’s grave. He wanted so badly to say he would rather jump into moving traffic then be seen with him. But no, he wanted to kiss him, more than ever. The only thing he could take solace in was the disgust he felt looking at Frank’s bloodied hands.

He could do it so easily just days before, just a few weeks before, but now it was to the point where he was so mad about him he could murder his brother and spit on him and he would be forgiven within a week.

That was barely an exaggeration.

He was sure if he dug deep enough, he could find that space in his chest that hated Frank, he could find the space that wanted him dead. But he did not want to find it. He wanted to be happy. But more specifically, with Frank. So he buried his feelings. But who could bury Ray?

He wouldn’t be at his funeral. He couldn’t. It would be suicide to go. And suicide to think about that depressing news any longer.

So he focussed on the more depressing news caused by that. Which was Frank sitting next to him, silence, fearful silence. And he wanted to tell Frank he hated him. He wanted to tell Frank that he was the worst person he had ever met.

He wanted to hate Frank. He wanted to want Frank to die. But now all he wanted to do was kiss him, and maybe wipe the fearful tear from his lover’s cheek. Lover took on a bit of a twisted meaning it seemed when it came to Gerard and Frank.

This was what he got for loving a murderer. This was what he got for being one. It must have been God bitchslapping him for the sins he had racked up over the weeks within meeting Frank. The inability to hate him.

Gerard wiped the tear from Frank’s cheek, it was rolling in a wave of duty. He was doing what he had to, barrelling down the face to sudden death where he would seep into the collar and die. And all he would leave was a dark, damp spot.

“Baby?” Gerard asked slowly, his voice sounded wary, it didn’t sound hollow, and he was glad for that. He was glad he didn’t seem all that bummed.

Frank didn’t reply. He didn’t know what to say because he was caught between wanting to kill himself or be killed by Gerard. Or maybe just kissed. Yeah, kissing Gerard was pretty good. But not when he brought up the next topic that would be considered so unwise for the each’s mental health by renowned psychiatrists. Or maybe they would never tell a psychiatrist, of course they wouldn’t. Confess some murders, learn out you’re just fucked in the head.

“How’d you do it?” Gerard asked. Frank thought it unwise to tell him, so he sidestepped it with more silence and another clearing of the throat. He was suffocating, you see.

Now, since Frank so artfully dodged the scene you are about to see, I would like to allow you to see it. It is crucial to this chapter that you do. We shall be going into depth, dear reader. Fasten your seatbelts.

* * * * * *

Frank had to move quickly. This was a police station and not only would more police be coming soon to take him to another station, he had just fatally wounded a cop. Not to admit he was “kidnapping” his lover, who was currently knocked out in the backseat of his car with chloroform.

So we have ourselves a pickle we had not the pleasure of seeing as a lonely incident. No, a situation had happened before, with a doctor, with an FBI agent undercover, no less.

Frank picked up the larger man’s body, smearing his back with his own hot, sticky, blood. He dragged him, to which a place he was not sure, but out of the way was where he was going.

Would Gerard see him? On the news in some shitty motel laying on some shitty bed where they had just had guilty sex, on a shitty tv that was more or less completely broken. Or would Frank break down and tell him? Which one would be worse a medium for his lover to find out by? Would he hurt? Would Gerard want to hurt him?

But more importantly would Gerard hate him? Would Gerard want to run away from him, go back to his brother and all his innocence and wrap himself in normal and morals and walk the runway of forgetting about Frank? Would he stay through this new bullshit, or would he leave again?

He could do that, Gerard could leave. Gerard could get away and he could go back home. He could play victim. That was not a bad thing, Frank set it up so if they got caught Frank would be the only one to get hurt, Gerard was a good liar, good actor, he could handle himself. But could he handle being away from Frank when their whole ordeal was over?

People would understand his clingyness. Mental illness, trauma, they would say. Gerard could get y and get back to life.

Part of him wanted Gerard to leave, get out while he could. While he was still alive, all in one piece, considered innocent. He wanted him to wriggle free from the trap that could have gotten him. He wanted Gerard to be the one that got away, the lucky son of a bitch that got away, that left him.

But reader, the aching in his chest when he entertained the idea of Gerard running away from him, fleeing one morning before he woke up, seemed to shed a different light on his own arbitrary feelings for his lover.

It hurt him to think of Gerard slipping out one day, before the light reached Frank’s eyes, before the darkness seeped into his very soul. He kind of wished Gerard just ran away, he kind of wished he had never met him. He kind of wished that they never fell in love, that they were just neighbors, just friends, just fucks. Just a fuck, that went well.

Gerard would slip out, not even say goodbye, just take his things and leave Frank. That would be beautiful. That would be great. Gerard could move on and Frank could start his existence as a ghost. Gerard was his everything, his anything. The only thing that mattered.

He was glad he fell in love with Gerard. He was glad he was going to be the person to break his heart. It was not the matter of if, it was the matter of when. When Gerard would run away, like a mouse and then Frank would die, not like the cat trying to get to him, but the ghost, the emptiness that he would be when Gerard left.

Or maybe he would snap and he would murder Gerard or he would explode and get to dangerous and he would run away. He was so in love with him. He didn’t want to scare him away. He would scare him away. He knew it, and if he didn’t, it would just be a little time till they were caught, or they were finished off by each other’s atomic love.

He wanted Gerard to leave, for that reason exactly,, the selfless part of him did, the selfish part wanted him right there, chained to him with his cement wellington’s, falling through the sea and into the void, holding his hand and massaging the heel of it with his thumb. He wanted Gerard to wake up everyday and hurt, not because he was regretful, but because he thought he was so lucky to be with Frank, like Frank did when he woke up. He wanted Gerard to be so madly in love with him, so crazy and insanely in love with him, that he would never dream of leaving. That the dream of leaving would be a nightmare.

He wanted Gerard. He wanted to suck the human out of him and leave him a ragdoll. Ragdolls were easier to carry than corpses. But he would shoulder his lover, not a corpse yet, but close enough that he was bogged down. Maybe he wouldn’t need the cement rain boots after all, Gerard was just enough for him to stop coming up for air. Gerard was enough to make Frank want to die.

He didn’t really want to die, he just felt so damn guilty about hacking away at Gerard. He couldn’t help it, it was animal instinct. It was Gerard being his scratching post, it was Gerard being everything that Frank took any of his feelings out on. Good or bad.

He didn’t want to run the risk of traumatizing his lover. He didn’t want to run the risk of seeming less human than he already was. So if he was to see it on tv, if they were to show the body (which was a long shot) he would sit him up in his chair, like the blood on his shirt and the rip was not enough for him to appear dead or alienated.

Maybe it would make Frank look more merciful. If they showed what seemed to be a quick and easy death. But it was anything but. It was labored. Both him and the corpse.

He propped him up on the chair, letting him lean in it, limp and lifeless, and head hanging down like he was acting on the shame Frank felt.

He could still hear him breathing. Faintly, like a secret. Like he was the secret staring Frank in the face. Like he was hiding that he was still alive. He was hanging on the hinges of existence in the mortal world. It wasn’t even his fault that his breath was so hollow, blood filled it up.

But something so pitiful like Ray's almost corpse couldn't hide from something

He took out his gun, this would be a euthanization. For Gerard? For himself? Who would it be for? It doesn’t matter. Because he doesn’t even flinch when the second bullet hits the skin, and Ray was either too powerless or too dead already to care when he was gone.

Frank put the gun away, hand shaking, fumbling into his belt buckle. The only other time he had been nervous at all about killing had been the first time, two and a half years ago, when he was a different person, back when maybe he was a little more human. Maybe Gerard was making him human again.

But maybe he didn’t want to be. He didn’t want to react to things anymore. Everything hurt and that was all because of Gerard. But everything was better and that was because of his lover as well, so he was stuck as he walked out of the bloodied station, into his lover’s waiting car.

It stood like a beacon of being, hope and help, Gerard sleeping in the back. He would wake up soon, he would wake and love Gerard and it would be okay. Gerard would make things okay. He had to. But how could he make them okay when his heart was thumping with the sound of hypothetical police sirens?

Frank knew he could not place his well being on Gerard. Not when Gerard was going to have to stomach this. Not when Ray was dead and all the other things. Frank could handle running away, he had to handle his emotions.

* * * * * *

“Okay,” Gerard let into the world, slowly, a stale crackle that Frank could tell he was falling apart. he wanted to hold him and he wanted Gerard to know that everything could be okay. He wanted him to make it all okay.

His answer to the horrific story you had just heard (albeit some deeper commentary for your enjoyment added

“Come here, baby,” Frank coaxed his lover. He kept the car steady as Gerard came, groggily, from the back seat up to the front next to him, eyes shining with tears as the long hair in his face tried their hardest to cover that up. He was blank, the only things showing Frank he was upset were the diamonds in his hazel eyes.

“Do you wanna get a motel, baby?” he asked, massaging his hair once he sat down, in the calming way he seemed to like so much. The sound of scratching that came with the hair laid a soundtrack to Frank’s question.

Gerard had to admit, it was very calming. But his question was not.

“Won’t they find us?” Gerard asked, panic stricken and blanching.

Frank felt so terrible that he had done this to Gerard, put all this weight on him. He wasn’t ready for it, no matter how much he wanted to be he was not ready to carry this burden. Frank was born ready, he was a natural born killer. He knew what to do to not get caught. Gerard was just confused and scared. He was so scared. Frank had to calm him down, but he couldn’t lie. He couldn’t lie to him.

“To tell you the truth, baby,” Frank said taking a hesitant breath, “it’s a definite possibility.”

Gerard squeeks, heart swelling with apprehension, fear, and an overwhelming need to bash his head in with a rock. What has he gotten himself into? Something that was over his head obviously.

But the look that Frank gives him with his soft, sad, human eyes (the eyes that he saw when they were pretending to be normal) made him so glad that he ran away with Frank. It was drastic but it was worth it.

“Hey, kiddo, it's okay. We'll dye our hair and we'll go far away," Frank said to his lover, an arm stretching across the windshield, painting the mosaic of possibilities for his artistic boyfriend. So he could understand. When Frank’s hand was a paintbrush, he understood.

His eyes lit up with possibilities and hope, the fear leaving and being replaced with, not apprehension like they usually were, but excitement. Excitement for a better life, tainted with murder and anything his heart desired.

“What colour will you dye your hair Frank? It’s so cute cut this way,” Gerard said fondling the black strings. It was long, more dark brown than black though.

“I don’t know baby. Maybe I’ll just cut it, you would look good with red, and maybe a little shorter,” Frank remarked, pushing his head into Gerard’s hand as he drove, the feeling of Gerard’s nerves lighting up with the simple touch making him sigh. He loved Frank. He loved him so much. It almost hurt him, like it turned his heart rotten with the sweet that coated it.

“That would be nice,” he purred, setting his hand down and quickly replacing his hold on Frankie with his head on his shoulder. He looked out the window, the front window. The occasional passing car went by, this road was pretty deserted. Gerard could tell it was not a highway. Frank must have taken the scenic route.

Gerard was pretty content he was still kind of reeling from Ray’s murder, but he felt better knowing that Frank did it for him, for them. Even though there was still the guilt and regret in his stomach.

The clock changed numbers, the green illuminating the ‘hopeless’ with the spider webs on his beautiful hands.

Gerard looked up at Frank who was licking his lips in the process of concentrating on his driving. He was so beautiful, and he didn’t even know it. Gerard didn’t think he even believed it.

"I love you so much, Frankie. I want to murder the whole world with you," Gerard confessed, burying his feeling of deep regret for the limp and dead Ray. He could kill his troubles away. But he couldn’t get them out the door before one last futile shout. He was betraying him. Of course he was but Ray wouldn't mind. Dead people never do.

Frank glanced down at Gerard quickly when he said that, eyes darting back to the view of the road, but not before giving him a quick smile. Gerard did not know how much that meant to Frank, to get his blessing in such a way.

Frank was excited for this. He was so madly in love and obsession with Gerard that this was a dream come true. Gerard wanted to take part in something he was so against before. That was a nice progress but was he sure? He probably wasn't. But he loved Frank too much to tell him that. To Frank, even that logic was something to be proud of.

Frank was doubtful about this, but Gerard loved Frank and he wanted to kill with Frank. He was certain. And that was better than any amount of love and apprehension Frank was cooking up.

Gerard's hands went to pet at Frank, smiling, dumb and happy. They tossed his hair around, hair that wouldn't look bad in a mohawk, hair that would be cut short soon when they started to flee even more from themselves.

His hands wanted to do more devious things but he didn't have the heart to speed up the process of getting to a motel. So they just settled for tousling his black hair, so much shorter than Gerard's in a few hours.

Frank leaned in once or twice to the gesture, his own relief and happiness nearly shattering his body. They would kill together.  

They would make the perfect duo. The tv stations would love them, a modern day Mickey and Mallory Knox.

He was more excited at the progress Gerard had made during the first time that they had murdered or at least committed that kind of act. He had kicked and screamed and almost had a psychotic break and now he wanted to kill with him? It was almost too amazing to believe.

Maybe Gerard was getting better. Frank had to admit, he expected more of a fight when he told Gerard about Ray. But it was only a little bumpy. (Even though Gerard’s views of himself were quite alarming.)

He thought Gerard would have acted terrible. He thought he would have started crying and shrieking and hating Frank like he did when they killed their first victim together. Well, when Gerard helped him hide it. Maybe it helped that Gerard was completely knocked out for most of it. He would not have appreciated seeing the life leave his best friend. Even though he kind of did see most of it leave.

They would have to talk about it. Or scream about it. However it went. With Gerard’s fingers in his hair and the smile on his face, he would think it was more talking. He would hope.

But for now Frank and Gerard were both happy. They were both kind of sleepy and really scared but they were happy. Or Frank hoped. Maybe Gerard was just stupid. Or maybe he was just stupid or they both were just stupid. But they were happy. Happy, stupid, it was all the same. But what mattered was that he was content.

Oh, he sure as hell was. Whenever he closed his eyes he saw that glorious liquid that he suspected had been the reason he kept killing. Spilling from others, that made him live while they were dying. Oh, their blood spilling made him feel so alive, so electric. It made him so itchily blissful, he wanted to take his baby out to kill right then.  But he was smarter than that, he was smarter than his indulgences, so he suppressed it, the itch that needing to be scratched could wait for a while while he just dreamt of happiness with his eyes open.

Blood. Every time he blinked. Blood. Every time he breathed. Blood. Forever and always. As long as he lived. Blood. Pulsing through his veins. Blood. Staining his hands. Blood. So much blood. And so much hope.

He looked to Gerard, his eyes starting to close, little slits of hazel, dazzled in the pale light of the night, skin bright and almost bioluminescent. He was blissed out, the happiness making his head loll, back and forth with the turns, his body being drenched his water, his body becoming the sea. Frank just hoped he wouldn’t drown, but that was for another time. Sadness was for another time.

Gerard was happy. Gerard was content. Gerard was drifting off to sleep before Frank could tell him the plan for their killing spree/road trip they had planned. Or at least, Frank had planned.

And if Gerard was happy, then Frank was happy. Frank was fucking ecstatic.

 


	2. Ready for Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title because the MSI song was stuck in my head all day

“Frankie?” Gerard asked, his eyes opening yet again to a more bright planet. His voice was groggy, foggy like the morning and fuzzy like the sight of everything, just till he rubbed them enough.

He saw the night sky, starting to turn to morning, just on the cusp of sunrise, burning into the pale blue of a dull excitement. The day was turning inside out. Gerard could see it’s milky guts, clouds, stretched like cotton candy across the pastel blue sky. He could feel it coming, the fright that the light brings. But it was better than being stuck in the night, that was full of secrets and trees, gaping at him, trying to get him. The morning was much better. But not for his bones.

His body ached, more than the past Gerard’s did. The front seat was not as comfortable as the back but with Frank’s hand in his hair it almost seemed to be. Hell, it was probably better. I Frank was touching him in any extent, Gerard was sure he could sleep on a bed of nails.

“Yes, babe?” Frank asked. They were on a highway with cars all around them. They glistened in the sun. Did they know that they were killers? Did these normal people know that Gerard and Frank were killers? If they did would they be phased?

Were the people around them killers?

No, of course they weren’t killers. Gerard stooped lower than most of the common population. But he could still feel it, the overgrown evil that were in people’s souls.

Being a newly born killer himself, he could feel the ugly radiating off of everything. He could feel the dirt that everyone swallowed down into them, it cultivated the seed of evil, the tree would grow out of their stomach and through their mouth. It was invisible, but Gerard saw it. The guilty saw the other guilty. He saw everybody. He could see everyone.

The highway turned into a forest, always moving, always twisting, always growing. It made Gerard shiver in fright, maybe the night was not so bad after all, at least the trees there were not attached to people.

Even Frank had a tree growing out him, gnarled, evil. It had always been there. But this tree was not just the tree of evil, it was not the tree of antagonism. It was the tree of life, Gerard’s beacon of hope. Frank was his only hope. He was beginning to realize this, Mikey would not be there, Ray (especially Ray) would not be there. Frank was the only person he knew in this world. And he was scared without him, he would be scared without him, even if Mikey was still there. Even if there was Ray.

He was leaving behind everyone. He was even leaving behind himself. But he had Frank. And that was enough. Frank was more than enough.

Frank was enough for Gerard to want to stick around, stick around to wherever Frank was sticking around. Even if it was kind of dangerous, kind of toxic. It would be okay. Everything with Frank was okay. It was proven. And if it wasn't okay, Gerard would change so it could became okay. Which meant going even more insane and delusional than he already was.

“Where are we heading to?” he said shaking his head. He was groggy, much more groggy than the average person who st had their best friend killed, is running away from everything they've ever known, and to top it all off their boyfriend is a killer who happened to be the entire reason for the escapade. But maybe it was just because he hadn't had his coffee yet. 

Frank’s hair had been leaves, coloured the dark and ugly deep brown of an unfortunate fall. His head shook and eyes squeezed, Frank was Frank again. Frank wasn’t a tree anymore. But he still only had Frank to cling onto. So tree or not, he listened to his future being dictated with bated breath.

“I have a friend. A friend in Portland. Oregon,” Frank said. He cleared his throat before continuing. “He’ll give us a place to stay. How about that, babe? You wanna go to the West Coast?” he asked, running his calloused fingers through Gerard’s hair. He smiled at Gerard, happy and relaxed. But you could see the bit of excitement in his eyes, or was it nervousness, was it fear? And if so, fear for what?

Was it the obvious fact that their existence as liberated people was illegal? Or was it something more? Gerard didn't want to worry, and he didn't want Frank to worry. So he ignored it, like any good problem solver. God, he was so fucking smart. But he didn't need the added stress of over analyzing shit right then.

Gerard leaned into Frank’s hand. He cooed, mewling like a cat, letting the heat of Frank’s tattooed hands touch his black hair. The hair that would soon be changed so he could forget even more of his past. So he could sever any of his ties to his past. God, he wanted to get farther away from it. He wanted to miles to get longer and stretch him farther away from everything than he could ever dream. God, did he want to get away from his past.

His past that he was running away from, to the complete joy of Frank. The past which he was so desperately in a love hate relationship with.

Would his boss replace him? Could he walk back there and expect for his job back? It never occurred to him that his boss was now short a worker. 

That didn't matter when he was debating two worlds, one comfortable, one with his job, one that was completely and utterly unthinkable because it didn't have Frank and then one that was dangerous and stellar, the only thinkable thing because it was full of Frank.

He wanted Frank, he wanted blood and carnage and murder. And he wanted his brother, he wanted to see his parents, and let them meet Frank. Oh, god, they would never meet Frank. He wanted them to meet Frank. He wanted them to love Frank like he loved Frank. Or at least, like him.

He wanted thanksgiving with Frank, He wanted to wake up next to Frank and not have to worry about whose blood was on their hands and if a stranger was mourning over someone who was a stranger to them, but all had something in common, He didn’t want to be the reason for a funeral.

But he wanted Frank. And he wanted this. And he wanted his own slice of twisted happiness. He was good for the first twenty some years of his life, he could enjoy being bad for the rest of his already pitiful existence.

This time it would just be more fun.

But it would be greedy. Gerard was getting greedy. Of course he was, he craved Frank and he craved normal and he craved the past but he craved new, he craved blood. He knew he was guilty. He knew he was a forest.

Gerard wasn’t unnerved by seeing the trees coming out of everybody’s car. He could blink and they were gone. He quite liked the idea of going that far away, that far away with Frank.

He liked the idea of releasing his past and all the good things that would have came along with being normal. Frank didn't need to see him in embarrassing baby pictures anyway. And besides, he liked killing people. Much more than he would like to admit.

“That sounds nice,” he remarked, nodding, curling himself into Frank’s hand. He craved his touch, he hadn’t touched him in a day. And with everything that had happened he needed some comforting.

“Frankie…” he started slowly, his voice hesitant and small. He wasn’t sure he knew what he was asking but Frank would sure as hell tell him soon enough with what he was. This would be a bad idea. Frank would react to this badly.

Gerard knew that he would be hesitant and he didn't want to say it. He didn't want anyone to know that he was not innocent anymore, even the person that made him like this.

“Yes, doll?” he asked This seemed to be what they were doing more. Gerard couldn’t jump into a conversation, he had to make sure Frank was there, Frank was real. He had come so close to losing him and even though he was sitting right next to him, petting his hair, being his lover, he still couldn’t believe that they were free. They were finally free.

“Frankie, I want to kill someone, I want to actually kill someone,” Gerard says. He thought about the gun they had in the knapsacks, the gun stashed away between clothing and confusion and Gerard’s inhibitions. The confidence, the sleek plastic killer. The thing that one day Gerard would stand behind, and Frank really hoped he wouldn't be the one on the other side.

“Alright, baby, you sure? You know what happened last time? You sure you don’t just wanna watch the first few times I go out?” Frank asked. He was worried about his baby. He was worried for his well being. He was worried he was going to regret it and he was going to hate him

He had only hidden a body before and that was a mess. But maybe it was because he had seen them as an actual person and not just a victim in the alleyway. He saw the doctor, the FBI agent as a person and that was where it went wrong.

It went horribly wrong.

Maybe if he just shot someone and held Frank’s hand and watched him die, then it would be better, It would be more like the game Gerard earned it to be and Frank would make it for him.

“Yeah, Frank. I’m sure, I want to kill and I want to kill on my own, yknow? I want you to be there and I want to kill with you but I don’t want to just pick up with you. I want to drain their blood.” Gerard was getting excited just talking about it with Frank. His eyes filled with sweet insanity, dark and sparkling and killer. He could feel his blood get hot, boiling in the little blue tubes of his veins, pulsating. Quicker and harder. 

It was in his blood, in his body to kill, to murder. His heart beat went faster, a constant thump of approval in reliable times. Even his body wanted to kill. He was born to do this. He was born to kill. His organs approved. And so did his lover.

Gerard buried his excited face deeper into Frank’s arm, the tattoo wiping against his skin. He loved Frank’s tattoos. He loved his art. His lover was _art._ He was so electrified with the idea of losing his purity n the most exhilarating way, he was so giddy with everything, this onslaught of noticing anything good about Frank was startling.

It came in waves, happiness and love, lapping at his body like the tides. He felt electric, electric skeleton.

And that was the most amazing thing about this all. Frank was the most amazing thing that had happened to him. Gerard was an artist and Frank was art and Gerard was a killer and so was Frank. They were the perfect match in every best way. They were soul mates. And that was what made this entire escapade so amazing.

He smelled, long and deep what exactly Frank smelled like. It was blood, he smelled like blood (he tried to forget it was Ray’s blood) and he smelled like hope and he smelled like misty forests. God, did he smell like everything Gerard desired.

Frank chuckled at his blissed out smile, happiness absurd in that extent. His nose smashed against Frank. His skin was soft and fleshy and he was everything that Gerard wanted in his future.

“Hey, baby. Are you tired or something? I know you slept a lot. And from the looks of it, your back hurts,” he remarked, adding the last sentence with a from as Gerard cracked his back more. His fingers went to his spine, He was such a good lover. He really did care. His fingers went to his back, running along the river of his spine.

“Mmm, a little. Just a bit groggy. And yeah, it does really hurt,” Gerard said. He sat up, taking Frank’s hand in his. The fingers fell onto his palm. 

He liked holding Frank’s hands. They were rough, he played guitar, but they always were so gentle. They were like rebel clouds, touching on him, loving on him, electrifying him with the pads of Frank’s fingers 

He knew that they were soulmates, that they were the only lovers for each other. Just because Frank started forest fires on his hands. So no matter how badly Frank treated him or no matter how insane they got or how violent, he always had that to hold onto. He always had the way Frank made him feel in the most rudimentary of situations.

He turned on the radio, fiddling with the dials till it emitted a soft college rock station.

“Wanna go to a motel? Figure out what we’re gonna do and maybe, uh, fool around a bit?” Frank asked. That sent thrills into Gerard’s darker regions and not just his hands. His hands were a forest fire, but man, with that phrase his body was a wild fire. (He just hoped Frank was a pyromaniac.)

“That’d be nice, Frankie,” Gerard giggled. He started to blush. He was always more touchy about this stuff than Frank. He was much more shy than his confident counterpart. Frank was in your face about sex, whispering dirty things in your ear, while Gerard just let it happen, not like he didn't want it. He always wanted Frank. He just let Frank initiate it.

“Yeah, pumpkin. Want me to fuck you?” Frank asked, eyes on the road, hand trailing down Gerard’s body in a way that was entirely too racy for even a highway. He kept his eyes trained on the road, he wasn’t even phased by his nasty mouth. Gerard squirmed.

“Want me inside of you? Pounding harder and harder till you're shaking and coming?” Frank asked. He was so sadistic. Gerard could practically feel his cock against the fly of his pants. He was ready for love.

“Yes! Frankie, faster. Go, come on I, need you now. Fuck, how much longer till we can get to somewhere?” Gerard pleaded, starting to get impatient. Now the tables turned, whenever Gerard was horny, all of his manners and regards went out the window.

“Soon, babe,” Frank cooed, “touch yourself. C’mon, you want it, right?” Frank asked in a husky voice. “Want me to send you to pieces? Touch yourself. C'mon, do it,” he said, egging a hesitant Gerard on. Horny or not, he was hesitant.

“Yes, b-but, Frankie, aren’t there people that will see?” Gerard blushed, getting shy, taking his hand from Frank’s, starting to paw at his jeans. He was getting harder, he didn’t want to push it. Not when they were on the highway. He looked around at the cars that windows were squared up with theres, oh yeah, they would definitely see anything about the level of the window.

“S’okay, babe. It’s still pretty dark. I’ll find a hotel soon. We should get to one, baby doll,” Frank said in a soothing voice, he moved his free hand over Gerard’s crotch, his legs splayed. There was the obvious bulge in his pants that made him want to get rammed into by Frank right there and right then.

“Hard, already, dollface? Always were such an eager slut,” Frank said with a sadistic grin. He let his fingers play along the fabric, creating a light friction. A friction that just about made Gerard’s seems come undone.

“ Frankie,” he moaned out, sharply. He thrusted his hips up from his seat. The cars next to them would see  _ that.  _ He would have been embarrassed if not for the lustful escapades going on.

“Shh, baby, calm down. Touch yourself. But don’t you dare come, not till I can fuck you,” Frank warned. His hand was still firm near Gerard’s crotch, too close to Gerard’s crotch.

Gerard whimpered, lightly taking out his cock to touch himself. He stroked up and down, Frank speaking over the music that was playing and the moans that Gerard were making.

“C’mon, baby. Can’t wait to fuck you hard and come on your ass, gonna make you lick it up. You’ll fucking love it. Won’t you? Of course you will. You’ll do anything I say, my little whore. Daddy’s baby cumslut, Frank growled. He was starting to get hard in his pants, looking at Gerard with dark eyes whenever he could.

He combed for a hotel, none coming up within fifteen minutes. He found one within twenty though, Gerard starting to mewl and get closer.

“Hold on, pumpkin! Daddy says no cumming,” Frank reminded his lover in a cheerful voice when he thought he was getting close. he patted his thigh, not helping Gerard’s situation, not helping his painful erection.

Gerard groaned in response, obviously on edge.

Frank laughed, telling Gerard to put his dick away when they reached a stop, walking into the hotel to ensue in a much needed release for the both of us, no matter how much winding up came beforehand.

* * * * * *

It all went so fast, Frank's shirt falling off, coming of of the shoulders that was soon replaced with Gerard's hands, touching his skin and tracing the bones that struck out of his pale shoulders.

“God, you're fucking beautiful,” Frank whispered against a wet mouth. 

“Frankie,” Gerard whimpered with his hands, touching on his chest.

Frank moaned against him, thrusting upward with his black jeans, baggy on his thighs, crumpling up against his bulge.

Gerard's hands felt the groove of his skinny jeans, the dip of his back. He was art. 

The room was unfamiliar, but it was not dirty like Gerard's old bedroom. There were no clothes on the floor and comic books to step over or shuffle around from his bed. It was perfect, but Gerard and Frank were used to imperfect.

It didn't stop them from touching each other, wanting each other. Frank's pants were whisked away, stepping (or tripping) out of them awkwardly as they shuffled to the big bed in the middle of the room, unwilling to let go of each other.

Gerard had his pants on, rutting against Frank's bare leg, before Frank laid him down and took them off.

“Beautiful,” he remarked again, the tight fabric on Gerard's boxers being ghosted over, the feeling of Frank and fabric more potent and more cool than just Frank along his bare ass.

He lifted up his ass, in offering to his lover to do what he would with it. The underwear of his, black and sleek, came off in a few seconds later. 

Frank was hungry for him, his core was burning with the desire he had for his snowy boy, snowy skin.

“Oh, god, Frankie, touch me,” he begged the younger man, the tattooed man, the man who whisked off his own underwear seconds later.

They were both hard, leaking precum, rutting against each other in a teenage way of making love.

Frank's hands went over the slope of his body, taking in his backside, hair falling in his face as his elbows held him up on the bed. Gerard was panting, loud and obscene, pounding in Frank's ears. He was pleading in gasps, words unnecessary. Frank knew what he needed to do to make his little boy tick.

“Mmm, so good,” Frank commented, reaching a hand around to feel at Gerard cock.

The touched man whimpered at the feeling, back arching more from the pleasure. His head was thrown forward, staring at the rumples in the sheets, focusing on anything but cumming.

Frank's other hand went to his hole, playing around the inside of it, dipping a finger in it, teasing Gerard. He couldn't get enough.

His lip was bit, drawing blood and letting spots come to his eyes from ecstasy. Frank was so good. Frank was so  _ good _ . 

Gerard squirmed when Fran's finger crooked ever so innocently inside of him. He let the ringing in his ears turn in time to his pants. His leg lifted, like he was running away but he would never dream of running away from this pleasure that he was being given.

Frank looked tentatively towards his lover, staring at his weeping body stance. He was ready for him. Whatever he would deem worthy, Gerard, of having.

He let another finger slip in with the first, two now scissoring him open, earning little noises from him that seemed to travel through Frank's ear and straight to his dick.

“Oh, Frankie, Jesus, please touch me,” he begged. His voice was shaky. Frank loved teasing his baby. Gerard was splitting apart at the seems, begging to be touched with hot electric in his bones, running through his veins.

“Okay, baby. Okay. You'll get me soon enough, don't be greedy,” Frank chastised.

“Okay, Frankie. Okay, daddy,” Gerard.

Gerard put his hands on the pillow, holding on tighter to the fabric. His fingers curled as Frank entered more fingers, other hand searching for any sort of lube that was had.

“Fuck,” Frank cursed after searching around on the floor and in drawers.

Gerard turned around, looking at him. The fingers were stuck in his ass, Frank moving his arm around to search in the drawers.

“What?” he asked.

“No motherfucking lube,” he cried, slamming the drawer.

Gerard flinched at the rising of his voice. “Then, fuck it,” he said in a serious voice. Frank looked up from his regret.

“What?” he asked in a tone of disbelief, the word no different than what Gerard asked seconds before.

“We don't need it. Fuck me raw,” he said, tone husky, pillow entangled in his fingers.

“Are you sure, baby?” he asked in a worrying tone. Frank wanted them to be as safe as possible. And he knew that lube was fairly necessary. 

“Yes, yes. Come on, Frank, I need you,” he begged, letting his dick slide against the silk sheets, showing Frank the evidence of his love.

“Okay, okay, baby,” Frank nodded, the disbelief in his face fading away as he moved forward again towards Gerard.

He spit on his hand, slathering his dick with it, getting as much covered as possible.

“Suck,” he ordered Gerard, sticking the fingers in his mouth. He let the three fingers slide into his mouth, whisking his tongue around them, letting as much spit cover hem as possible. He knew this was all he was getting, so he wanted it to be enough.

“Okay, baby, you ready?” Frank asked him, taking his fingers out, sliding them in around his hole.

“Yes, Frankie,” Gerard replied obediently. He raised his pale ass, smooth and fleshy.

Frank entered him, spit working well enough to make sure that he slid in easily. But Gerard still gasped at the feeling of being full.

“Mmm, so good,” Frank said again, sliding his hips to Gerard, bring himself closer to his body.

“Frankie,” Gerard seemed to beg for mercy because it felt so good and Frank as giving him so little.

“Shh,” Frank said, feeling the curve of his ass as it waved in the air for him. He was so beautiful.

Gerard shut his mouth but he kept whimpering, he bit his arm to stifle himself as Frank slowly gyrated his hips and slid deeper in again.

Gerard knew he was just being careful, he knew that he would go faster if his caring allowed him to. He knew that Frank was not teasing him but it sure as fuck felt like it.

Frank entered again and a groan was emitted almost involuntarily by Gerard. He staggered a little, this piece of penetration was harder than the first few times. They were getting somewhere. If slowly. Frank just didn't want to hurt him, after what he had been through, what Frank had put him through, he refused to add extra stress to his life. Gerard was getting nothing but the best from there on out.

“Y'okay, baby?” Frank panted, breathless. His eyes were closed and he rutted against Gerard again, unable to stop himself. The slide was becoming easier, more enjoyable for Gerard and Frank knew it. He did not want to risk it.

“Yes, oh, yes, Frankie,” Gerard breathed. His voice sounded exasperated in the best way possible, needy and whiny.

Frank snapped his hips again, Gerard pushing back against him at just the right angle to hit his prostate.

Gerard shook, crumpling down with a cry. His body shook from that one thrust, the feeling of love and lust and skin and Frank, mixed together and made it unbearable.

“Faster, please, Frankie. I'll be okay, Frankie, faster,” he moaned out, wiggling his ass back on Frank.

Frank got on his knees, spreading Gerard's cheeks to see him enter his hole with every new found strength, the slap of skin against skin being the soundtrack for pleasure, moans just adding to it.

“Frank,” Gerard cried, breathless, grabbing at his hand, his whole body shaking and alive from pleasure. He looked pretty as a picture, writhing in ecstasy like that.

Frank's mouth opened and his eyes closed as he let himself get lost in the pleasure that was Gerard's tightness. There were moans and there were whimpers from Gerard's part, soft grunts from Frank.

He let Gerard grab his hand, moving faster and faster inside of him, gyrating and circling his hips, hitting his prostate again and again. Every time he did there was another noise emanated from Gerard.

“Uh, Frankie, love you,” he yelled, arching more.

Frank slung an arm across his chest, pulling him up to his height, on his knees and getting pounded, all while still holding hands.

“So hot, so beautiful. Would look like fucking art with blood on you,” Frank growled, low into his ear, Gerard's tasseled hair matting the space around his voice.

“Oh, God, Frankie! Frankie, I'm coming!” Gerard cried, his body shaking with orgasm.

Gerard flexed around Frank, tightening up his body and his muscles locking in the most painful sounding orgasm that the kid had ever had. But God, it was the best. It felt so nice in his bones, he turned to mush with Frank's touch.

Anywhere he touched was sensitive and killer to his body. He was electrified, a hot bed of goodness and glue and jelly. He loved post-orgasm feelings.

Frank came right after him, I might add, his own body going through it's own process of taking out his dick from Gerard and laying next to him. His body fell to the bed when Frank came, his hand grasping Frank's in the most romantic/sexual gesture they had ever taken part in.

So now Frank was laying on the bed, staring at Gerard and the ceiling, alternating the looks, the smile on his face never leaving. Gerard just stared at Frank, eyes cloudy and electric.

They were both panting, hands still holding, there was cum on both mens' stomachs, white and sticky and hot and a reminder of what a great dynamic they had. Gerard loved it. He loved Frank.

“I love you, Gee,” Frank whispered, taking a cigarette from the pants that he had thrown on the floor. He had to fish for a while but eventually he had found them, in the pocket of a rumpled pair of jeans. There was a blood splatter on the back pocket. Just a fleck but enough to get them caught.

He would have to clean that later.

The room smelled like sex, like sweat and cum and all the other things that lurked in shady hotels and motels like this one. It smelled like Frank and Gerard’s relationship (minus the blood). It smelled like their own personal progress and posterity. It smelled like love. 

Gerard curled into his bony shoulders further, the pale morning light drifting yellow across his skin, across both of their skin, making it seem brighter.

Gerard always felt cleaner after having sex with Frank. Like with anyone else it was too dirty. And even if it was dirty with Frank, it was never unclean. It was never anything that Gerard hated thinking about. Because he loved thinking about it. He really did.

He loved it in his mind. He loved the past time and when he wasn't doing it, he loved thinking about it. 

Gerard loved Frank on his skin and he loved the feeling of the friction. God, he loved Frank. He loved his entire being.

“Love you, too, Frankie,” he said. He plucked the cigarette from Frank’s hand, letting his own spidery fingers work it’s way around the pale stick of tobacco and paper.

He knew one day it would kill him. He knew one day that his lungs would cease to work right and he would die. But maybe he wouldn't die from that.

The angry feeling of a weapon in his handm the cushion that it felt and the light leaving people eyes, the occupation he was in, or would soon be in, would be enough to get him killed. Or maybe Frank's love would smother him in his sleep. He wouldn't mind that happening.

“Enough to murder the world with me?” he asked, with a laugh. There was a hint of desperation and insecurity that Gerard did not catch on to in his blissed out state. Frank took back te cigarette with a panicked snatch before Gerard could answer or even blow out all of his smoke from the session he had with it moments before, against his lips.

“Of course. The whole world,” he promised, taking another drag of the cigarette, punctuating it with a puff of smoke and a giggle.

“Good, baby, cuz this world is gonna burn, and we're gonna burn it,” he said to his lover, waving the cigarette in a fashion that might have left ashes on the pillow but he didn't care. That could burn, too. They would burn the world, then burn in hell.

“Oh, sounds like fun, Frankie,” Gerard left a kiss on his nose.

“I'm glad I fell in love with you,” Gerard said, quietly. He moved away, smile falling, but not in a bad way, it was in a serious way. The best kind of serious way.

“I'm glad that you stayed in love with me,” Frank whispered back, rubbing his own nose, the one Gerard just left a kiss on, against Gerard's. Much to the complete and utter joy of the other man.

His heart swelled as Frank moved away. He was so lucky to love him. He was so lucky to be loved by him. God, he was everything that Gerard could ever want. Frank was everything Gerard could ever need. He was exactly what he needed. 

He was a sweet killer, rough in the bedroom and cool when it was over. He stole Gerard's cigarettes, but Gerard would probably do the same thing to him if they were always on hand. They were perfect. 

Gerard pecked him again, this time on the lips, soft and pink and warm and tasting of everything good, everything  _ Frank _ , to show him, in a small way, how much he loved him.

It's was Frank's turn to turn into a mess.

Frank curled onto his baby boy in relief that Gerard did not see and would never see because he did not know of Frank’s insecurities. He just laughed harder and fell deeper into love as Frank pushed his face into Gerard and inhaled his lover.

Consumed his lover.

His neck was marble, alabaster and smooth. His hands were creators. His body was a landscape of rolling hills, meadows and flowers and his mind was a pallet. Gerard was art. But that meant he was easily destroyed.

Frank wished it was that easy to get rid of the tendencies to destroy. He really did, they were having a good time and then bam, he wanted to rip off Gerard's skin and see him squirm (and not in a good way). He wanted him to hurt.

So he stared at his tiny darling and realized something. He would rather die than have anything happen to Gerard. He would rather kill himself than have to hurt Gerard. He would never hurt Gerard. Nothing he didn't want to be done to him. He wanted Gerard to feel loved, Gerard deserved way more than Frank and he knew that. So he would just have to step up as much as he could to give Gerard as best as possible.

They took turns taking drags of the cigarette till Frank threw on some pants and took out a notepad, starting to take notes on where they would go next and what they would do next, explaining everything to Gerard with his hands and with marking on the paper. It was barely needed, Gerard got the gist of what the end game was and what they needed to do.

“Alright, baby, right now we border Illinois, so it will take us around thirty-four hours of straight driving,” Frank said, Gerard putting on his own boxers. 

He stared at his lover, eyes trained on his body and the explanation he was doing with his hands. His thighs were milky, white and fleshy and pale and Frank wanted them wrapped around his body again, he wanted them on his hips and in the shower but that was for another time. That was when they didn't have business to do.

God, was he wild about Gerard. It was like they were newly weds on a honeymoon.

But the word 'murder' he had underlined three times on a list of things to do told him that it was otherwise.  
  
  


 


	3. Makeshift World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm I don't know how I feel about this one, merrrrr

Gerard and Frank were doing their best to keep their eyes on the paper that Frank was pointing to. But it was hard with all the tension between them. The tension that was thick like a second skin around the pair.

The tension wasn't bad per see, just distracting. It was thick in the air, making them want to connect their lips while flames showered across corpses of people they would kill on their adventure. They wanted to destroy. And they were destined to do just that.

“Frankie?” Gerard asked, quiet eyes looking down at the paper. Frank had just calculated their expenses for basic necessities to Portland. That included gas, food and the occasional lodging. The prospects were looking good.

“Yeah, babe?” Frank asked, chewing on the end of a pen cap, wishing it was Gerard's neck. His neck always looked like space when Frank got through with it.

“Could you- could we, like, maybe, you could teach me to kill?” Gerard asked, his face was red, blushing, the heat coming in waves on his skin. This was an embarrassing thing to ask. He kneaded his legs, staring down at them and not at Frank.

Frank looked up, surprised. This soon? He wanted to corrupt himself after this little of time? He wanted to be so destructive and destructed now?

Frank was wary. Gerard would regret it, he would. Frank knew it. It would be like the last (or more aptly titled, the first,) killing.

Gerard looked at him, blushing harder before he looked down at the paper. He stuttered out a reply, an apology, misconstruing Frank's awed face and silence. “Sorry, I-I, I didn't. Sorry, I mean, if you don't want to,” he shrugged, his eyes were wet with embarrassment. He fiddled with his fingers, too cute for a killer, to shy for a slayer. He just wished that this line of conversation was over. He wished he could take it back. God, it was so awkward till Frank spoke.

“No, no, I was just surprised. Y'know. Yeah, we could do it, if you want,” Frank shrugged. He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Why were you surprised?” Gerard asked, he didn't want to stay on the topic of this but Frank's answer was too much to get over, to just even trip over.

“I know you wanted to do it, but I mean, this fast? Are you sure?” he asked. Gerard just looked up, getting his cigarettes off the bed. He was confused again. Or maybe, just a little pissed up.

He lit a cigarette. The flame stood on the disposable blue for a second longer than needed, both of the men staring at it for a moment before talking again. The smoke came between them. Gerard took a breath, a hiss unleashed with the smoke.

“Yes, Frank. It's about time I destroyed something other than myself,” he said. He looked at his fingers with the last words. They were bitten down to the nubs, cracked and brittle and frightened and anxious.

“Okay,” Frank said. It was a hesitant okay but it was an okay. And that made Gerard feel better more than anything.

Gerard took another breath of the carcinogen. “So when?” he asked. He was excited for this, his hands still shaking, whether it be with nerves or want.

“Soon, baby. We can murder a hitchhiker if you want,” Frank said. The way he said it was so casual.

It was almost trippy. Gerard almost laughed at the wryness of it all. But he held his tongue. It seemed unimportant to point it out.

“That'd be nice, we can take him into the woods and stab him to death, painful and slow,” Gerard said, shivering with excitement.

“Mmm, yeah, that'd be hot,” Frank said, licking his lips. Gerard was so sexy when he was homicidal. It made Frank want to touch him all over and make him scream like a victim.

“Are you gonna teach me your ways?” Gerard asked. He could tell Frank was getting hard, he was coy, but he knew, letting himself suck on his thumb in a way that had Frank hooked. Two could play at that game.

“I suppose, you're already a natural,” Frank said. He didn't look at Gerard, he looked out the window at the curtains that were lightly shifting. They were on the third floor.

Gerard fit the cigarette up to his lips again. The light was dipping down into the blinds, there were slits across Frank's face. His eyes were covered with darkness, his nose was cast in light. It went so on with his body. Did he see Gerard like that?

Gerard didn't feel like being sexy anymore. He just stared at the lines of Frank chin, memorizing them so he could draw them later on.

He stared at him, putting the pen down, getting ready to talk further. They had to have an in depth discussion about this.

“Am not,” Gerard said, he began to grow shy.

He didn't know what his life was with this. He didn't know he could feel so gratified being called a good murderer. It was bizarre, like he was stuck in a little time loop with Frank. Like they were in their own little world and everything was the opposite because everything was twisted and okay.

That was what was best with them, no matter how surrounded by people or shit they were Gerard and Frank were just each other's. Just them.

The only thing that existed anymore was them and Gerard wanted it to stay that way, at least for a little while. At least forever. Forever at the least because no time with Frank was enough time.

The beige world with it's fluttering curtains was all he knew. The boy who sat across from him, his life changer, life ruiner, best friend, soul mate was the only thing he wanted to know. He wanted to consume Frank in only the way a person who lived inside him did. God, he only wanted Frank. Everything was Frank. Frank was it for him.

They had grown serious over the intermission, Gerard's cheeks had cooled but their eyes met, intensifying the world's heat. They're eyes swam like emerald dancers, green and yellow and gold mixing together. Urging them to dance, too. Urging them off of the floor and to stand up.

Frank looked so beautiful, his hair was sticking up from his face. It was afternoon now, but it looked like he just woke up. Gerard loved waking up next to him.

Their eyes met till it was almost smoldering Gerard, no one moved. No one wanted to.

Gerard stood up, a little unsteady, like a nervous fawn. He wiped his hands on the baggy pants, wrinkling pants he had picked up off the floor. “Dance with me,” he insisted. The eyes made him want to.

“What?” Frank asked.

“Dance with me,” Gerard said again, this time he had to hide that his voice was a little shaky. Was his request too weird?

“There's no music,” Frank pointed out. Damn him for being practical.

“Then we'll hum,” Gerard improvised.

Frank cocked an eyebrow as if to say _What are you gonna do about it?_ and stood up, putting his arms around Gerard's waist. It slid like a ring and it hug loosely to him. He never wanted Frank to leave.

Gerard started to hum some random tune low in his breath. If this was a movie music would already be playing. How convenient.

“You look beautiful, today,” Frank told him, smiling with his whole face, eyes shining with pride, swimming with green dancers.

“Thank you, as do you,” Gerard said, to awkward chuckling smiles.

They continued to sway, neither man having any of the courage to move their feet. They stayed in one spot for the whole ordeal, but it was not a chore or an embarrassment.

Gerard put his cheek on Frank's head. Sometimes, he really did wish he was shorter than Frank.

He continued to hum, something that neither man really knew was anything.

“I love you, Frank,” he said, his hands slipped to Frank's shoulders. They were firm, rounded, a little bit bony but otherwise fleshy. Under his t-shirt he could feel the bones.

“I love you, too, Gee. Let's pretend like we're getting married,” Frank said. It was fairly abrupt but Gerard loved the idea. He thought it would be cute since they were probably never going to get actually married. Not like Gerard hated that idea. He loved the idea of being Gerard Iero. It sent chills down his spine at the thought of it. 

He almost wished they were the cute gay couple that lived down the street and wore nice clothes and walked their dogs and kissed a lot and went to Pride Parades together. But no, they were gay murderers. But he wasn't complaining. Not one bit.

“Okay,” he said, almost to himself preparing for the total annihilation of his feelings that would happen. He would end up crying, he would get emotional. He knew it. He fucking knew it.

He took a deep breath. This would take some preparing.

“What do you wanna do first?” he asked Frank.

He broke away from his lover's head to get a look at his face. He looked like he had already thought this out.

“Vows,” Frank said. It was an immediate answer. It was final. Gerard was flustered as ever. His cheeks were red and his head was down. He didn't want to look at Frank, not even when all these personal things were directed to him. But he managed to raise his head with the help of Frank's finger on his chin, gently raising him, staring deep into his eyes.

“Frank,” he started slowly like the beginning of a fire, “I've loved you more than anyone could ever love anything. And I'm not just saying that for my health. Hell, in fact, I think it's even dangerous to be around you, but I want to be as near to you as I could be for as long as I could be. You're my best friend and my partner in crime. You're the love of my life. It would be an honor to be welded to you. It would be an honor to be destroyed by you,” he spoke, fluently. It was funny that he already knew what he wanted to say to him. It clunked around a bit in his head but he made it work.

“Oh, wow,” Frank's green dancers has gone, sapphire killers inside of his eyes now. The dancers had died. He was tearing up. The tears glistened, everyone, even the wind and the linens and the chairs, listened with bated breath at the next turn of the lovers.

Time had stopped and there was nothing but them, sitting in the middle of a carpeted floor. The light was off so there was a bit of a blue hue to the room. But it was perfect, it was surreal. Frank's face was shadowed. He licked his lips.

“Your turn,” Gerard urged. His heart was beating quick, could Frank ever love him as much as Gerard loved him? He hoped to God he could. He couldn't bear to be loved any less than he had the capacity to love.

“Gerard, I've wanted to destroy you since I first met you. And I think I might have succeeded. But I love you and I want you, and I want to preserve you, forever. I want to be with you, forever. And I will stop at nothing to succeed. I am yours, and you are mine. God, I'd kill for you, I'd kill myself for you. I'll die in your arms or by your hands if it amuses you, even for a little while. I will try to be everything you deserve, I want to give you everything you deserve,” Frank sighed.

Gerard was crying by the time Frank finished. His hands were linked ever so gently with Frank's. He felt electric, a low smoldering inside of him, the smoldering of warm chains across covered skin. He felt trapped, he felt bound, he felt whole. God, he felt so whole his head spun.

“I love you, Gerard, I will always love you,” Frank promised. He sighed, laying his head on Gerard's. He rubbed his cheek against Gerard's. The tears were rolling down his cheeks, tickling his face in the way that felt like soft caresses. They cried together, hands and hearts and head so close. They stared at each other, wading in each others's eyes.

His eyes were grass, deep and lush and swaying to the invisible music, swaying to the wind. He loved him. God, did he love Gerard. Gerard and him were still dancing, although it seemed to natural for that, too instinctive.

Frank was Gerard's soul mate. They were meant for each other, meant to meet, meant to be. They were the perfect match and Gerard was so relieved that he didn't have to die alone, now. He used to be so afraid he would die alone.

Gerard was still crying, this time the happiness seemed to break way to silence as Gerard nuzzled his face deeper into Frank's flesh, his nose bending into him. “Never leave me, I need you. I need you so much, I need you. Please, never leave me,” he begged. There was a craze to his voice. There was a desperation in his voice as he grasped his lover's hand harder, curling the digits onto themselves, sending sweat onto the skin. He kneaded Frank's flesh like a cat. His nails ducked inward into skin, making indents. Gerard was holding so tightly that it started to hurt, started to throb.

Gerard was wild, holding onto Frank, swaying, swaying, the calm action unlike his now panicking visage. He was hurting Frank's hand.

Gerard was the best hand holder. Even if Frank's hand was currently being held so hard it was almost breaking. Especially if.

They swayed, less for the feeling of romance, more because Gerard had a wild look in his eyes. He looked like he was in a panic, in a fever dream. Frank swayed, quicker, more steady. He wanted Gerard to be okay. He needed Gerard to be okay. His hand lay on the curve of his back, the dip and the edges were the dimples met. He was so perfect.

God, he was so _perfect._

“Never gonna leave you, I'm here forever. I promise,” Frank said, a small smile on his lips. He was crying, too, Gerard was just more desperate, more loud, bending his knees to get to Frank's size. It wasn't to tease him, it was to bury his face in his chest. “I give you permission to consume me for as long as you need,” Frank said, stroking his baby boy's hair. It was soft, unwashed, but soft.

“I need you forever, I need to sink into your skin,” he said. He was breathing, hard against his shirt, making it wet and hot. He was melting into Frank.

“That's alright, I'm here forever,” he assured him. He patted his back.

“Okay, okay,” Gerard said, he shook, turning into the tears that streamed down his face.

“Hey, baby. Hey, let's lie down, okay?” Frank said, he let Gerard shamble around, being led by Frank as he laid on the bed, bawling his eyes out.

“Don't let go of me, Frank, stay with me,” he cried. His arm was out at a weird angle, Frank holding on from the side of the bed.

He always loved it when Gerard said his name, it was like the sound of a typewriter. But it was a soft tapping, keystrokes, if you will. It was a wave, clipped like a citrus fruit, rolling off Gerard's tongue. It was delicate now, it was soft now. When Gerard said it. Whenever anyone else did, it stuck in their throat like a bad taste, choking them. His name, Gerard saying his name, was the only thing that wouldn't hurt his baby that hurt everyone else. Gerard was invincible when it came to Frank. At least when it came to his name.

But Frank was not invincible to Gerard. He was softer when it came to him, was this how Gerard existed everyday? Was he this soft all the time? Frank did not dwell, it would scare him, his baby being this weak. He would feel obliged to take him home, drop him off with no charges on his part and run away. Gerard would have gotten over it. (Frank wouldn't.)

That would be the good thing. He could dwell on it and realize Gerard's innocence was meant only for him to prey on. He had tried before, he had plotted before. Before love swooped down and caught him by the shoulders. It would be so easy to kill him, snap his neck and watch the life drain from his eyes.

But then Frank would be alone. He would be alone and he was much too selfish for that to happen. Gerard was the only person who would put up with him.

But he promised, he promised to protect Gerard. He promised he had to stay next to Gerard, listening to his cries. He promised to hold his hand at an awkward angle forever. So there would be no slaughter, no martyr, no running away. Gerard needed him, and as much as he hated to admit it, he needed Gerard.

“Hey, baby. Why are you crying? We're married,” he half-joked, going along with their old joke, running it on for the hell of it.

“I want to marry you,” Gerard said, stiffing his cries. His face was still red, stark against his beautiful green eyes.

“What?” Frank asked. He was surprised at this, not knowing Gerard was that serious. Not knowing that fooling around would lead to this. Not like he had any objection. Because he didn't, he wanted to spend his dying days in Gerard Way's arms. He wanted to spend every day with him. Awake, asleep, in love, or in pain.

Gerard was staring at him with a sort of desperate hope. Frank stared back, dumbly. He couldn't believe the greatest thing in his life was happening to him.

He wanted Gerard. He wanted him eternally.

“Marry me,” Gerard urged, new found smile faltering.

Did Frank not want him? Did Frank not want to be with him? Was it a joke to him? Was murder and undying love a joke to him? He hoped to God he was just stunned of happiness because for the sake of Gerard's sanity, he needed Frank to say yes to him.

Frank smiled, wide and sloppy and almost cocky. “Yes, a million times, yes. We'll be eternally each other's,” he said.

He could picture it now. The blood that he so loved, the blood of not a victim, but two lovers, mingling together in a way of bond would be beautiful.

Which gave him the greatest idea of the twenty-first century. He was excited.

He took out his knife.

“Gerard, sit up,” he said as he did so himself. He frantically pushed himself.

“That's the best idea ever, Frankie! Like in Natural Born Killers,” Gerard said, catching on quickly, as eager as Frank no.

He pushed himself up, grin sloppy and eyes alight.

“Give me your hand,” Frank said. He took the fingers, straightening it out to put the sharp blade on the palm. They would probably get blood on the sheets but whatever.

Well, not whatever, Frank would try to think about that later. Someone could track their DNA with that. They had to be careful, no matter how madly in love they were.

Gerard hissed as the blade cut into him, but he didn't put up much fuss. It stung like a bitch but it looked so beautiful flowing down his alabaster skin. There were drops onto his wrist. The blue of his veins mixed with the red so beautifully.

“Forever,” Frank promised.

He cut his own hand, deeper than Gerard's. “God, I hope this scars so we can remember this very moment,” he said.

Gerard just smiled up at him, clutching his fist so the blood flowed more before flattening the palm against Frank's.

“Forever,” he repeated.

Their hands clasped together. They kissed, hands stinging and dripping sweet smelling blood.

They broke apart, Gerard getting an even better idea that Frank would follow when he saw. Gerard unclasped their hands, the blood pooling in the small crevices of his hand looking so pretty, wiping it onto his mouth. It made it ruby red and delectable.

Frank did the same.

They reconnected their lips again, lapping at the copper taste around each other's mouth. Their hands met again. The blood was flowing so freely. But they didn't worry.

They just hoped it would scar.

“We're married now,” Gerard announced in a lazy voice when their mouth's were done exploring.

“We always were, baby doll,” Frank said to his lover. Their mouths were still red, they looked like vampires.

Wouldn't that have been cool? Then they'd have a reason to murder.

Scratch that, they had one now.

All they wanted to do was to watch the world burn. That was their motive but it seemed to be the best one in the world with the eagerness they both had.

They stared at each other, crazed and lazy and loving smiles plastered on their faces. Gerard was sick in the head, but Frank was the one that made him that way.

He loved it. Frank was his own personal plague.

They kissed again, foreheads touching, hands stinging, eyes crazy, trained on the other.

It was quiet. The good quiet. The quiet that made you want to tiptoe. The quiet that made you want to disappear but didn't make you want to blow your brains out. The quiet that made you want to die in the most timid of ways.

Gerard looked at his hands. The cut had become the most timid of lacerations.

God, the gash was deep, but so was he. He was in deep.

He looked to Frank again. God, he was beautiful. God, he was deadly.

* * * * * *

Mikey was not as happy as his brother was. But he was probably just as unstable. He was definitely in the same shade of darkness as the estranged Way brother.

Mikey couldn't sleep. He couldn't eat. His brother was lost somewhere. He was worried sick, so sick. He felt so sick. He felt like throwing up every two minutes or whenever he thought about anything. So he felt like throwing up constantly.

He especially felt like throwing up when he thought about Gerard being as scared as Mikey knew the innocent man to be in that kind of dangerous situation. He had no idea, but reader, we must leave it that way. We must let him look in the dark and flail about because we reality people are all sadists, now aren't we?

But Mikey was a particular masochist. He was quite bad at taking care of himself in this time of hardship. His stomach was grumbling and his head was spinning. He hadn't eaten more than a bowl of fairly dry cereal in two days and his hydration must be dangerously low. But it hurt to get out of bed and it hurt to do anything of actual function so he was sure he would just die in a few days but whatever.

He hadn't gone to school in a few days. He stayed up, frantic. He kept imagining his brother, snot nosed in the back of a van with a caravan of weirdos. God, what would they do to him? He would be so scared. He was so innocent. He was so small and awkward.

God, Mikey felt like punching himself in the face.

He couldn't think about that. He couldn't crawl back into bed. He couldn't hide under the blankets and press his eyes together till his brother left them. He was worried sick and he couldn't dwell on exactly that today. Or else his will would crumble and he would not go to this important event.

There was the funeral today. Ray's funeral today. God, he had to get out of bed for the funeral. He would have hated himself if he didn't. Ray was his best friend, it was the least he could do. Even though he would be the only one to blame himself if he stayed in bed that day. It had been days since his skin had actually touched sunlight.

He didn't think he could face the nothingness that became his life. He couldn't face the vastness of the sunny, crisp day. It would remind him of Gerard, being out there, anywhere. It would remind him of Ray, being nowhere, being everywhere but right in front of him and real.

He got out of bed, the bed he hadn't gotten out of in hours. The bed that he hadn't even slept in since Gerard left. The bed that was messy but unused because he had started using it as a sanctuary rather than a place for sleeping. The nightmares came when he slept so he kept his eyes peeled, staring at his computer or his phone or talking to his worried mother. He couldn't sleep. He wouldn't sleep.

The nightmares came when he slept. So he just didn't. The nightmares were all the same centric theme. It was all reality. Flashbacks, like war.

He remembered it too well. How could he forget? His mind was imprinted with the mistake he had made days before. He felt the shame grind into his bones, turning him to dust and he staggered right there in the middle of his empty bedroom. In the middle of his empty apartment.

Gerard had left him, then it was Ray. Everyone had left him in a span of hours. Probably even minutes. It made him feel sick when he thought about it.

Gerard had been sad, his bones must have hurt, Frank had hurt him pretty badly. But still, he seemed bummed, if not, anxious, even. Like he was waiting for something.

Mikey was sure he was just scared of Frank. He was scared Frank would get to him again. And Mikey understood that. So he stayed watch over his distressed brother. His paranoid brother.

But he seemed more annoyed at Mikey than anything. And Mikey also got that, he was hovering. He had been hovering since the night before. Gerard was his best friend, but he knew that his face hadn't been seen this much since they were children sharing everything.

So Mikey went to class and Gerard stayed home. Big mistake. The first mistake in a group of millions. Dominoes that just kept falling. Mikey pulled on his pants, over his aching thighs that protested standing after all that laying and sitting.

Mikey came back only after one class. He couldn't concentrate so there was no use of going to school. And he was worried more about Gerard, his brother who might be hurting and would be hurting alone if Mikey didn't get home soon.

“Gerard? Bro, I'm home,” Mikey said, his keys jangling with him as a soundtrack to the sound of a creaking door and his voice booming through the flat. He didn't think anything was weird, not when he first entered. It was like Gerard was there. But the silence spiked his fright.

There was no answer. Mikey's body went into the response that he got too many times before. Anxiety, panic. He ran to Gerard's room, his mind ran with him, a million miles faster than he every could with the most horrific of thoughts. The most realistic of thoughts.

What if Gerard had been kidnapped? Or left? What if he was wandering around town looking for Frank? Mikey would do his best as a brother to keep him safe and away from that monster. Gerard never really made the best decisions or knew what was good for him. But Mikey didn't blame him. No, Gerard just made mistakes a few times. Life changing mistakes.

What if Gerard had killed himself? What if he was delirious without Frank? He couldn't have become dependent on him, he didn't seem to protest much when Ray came and took him away.

All these horrible things occurred to him to have happened. The silence roared on and the emptiness spoke inside the bedroom that Gerard was not in. His blankets were tangled, everything was left as it had been. There was nothing out of place. Even the light was off. It was like he went out somewhere.

Had he gone to visit Frank? Did he go check up with Ray? That was not entirely absurd. It seemed realistic, seemed logical, seemed safe. But safe was not Gerard, Gerard was never predictable. And that was what made Mikey so fast in responding. That and his palpitating heart and the adrenaline running through his veins.

Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe he wasn't acting fast enough.

He whipped out his phone, typing in Ray's number to see where Gerard was. He fumbled once or twice with it, fingers flying over a keypad.

It would have been an easy task if not for the ringing that Mikey was left with. He canceled the call with a curse. He tried again, another try in a desperate attempt to look for his brother. He had calmed down since getting the idea to call Ray, but only by a little. And the fear was mounting as he met the voice message yet again.

Now the window of where Gerard was was starting to shorten and every minute he spent speculating could be every minute Gerard was spending in distress.

He didn't try a third time. He should have known the first time it was futile. If Ray didn't pick up the first time, his phone was off. The thing is, it never was. So there was a real problem there.

Mikey felt bile rise in his throat. He was off again, seeking out his brother in the place where he would try again, to get to this time. He could not be anywhere else. Mikey prayed to God he was nowhere else.

Mikey tried to call Gerard while he drove, that was off as well. The beeps and the voices just confirmed his dread, solidified it. It felt more real as he reached the dial tone before the cool woman's voice commanded he wait. He hung up, angrily. Why didn't Gerard do what was best for him?

Mikey drove on. His hands shook on the wheel. He was scared of what he would meet. He was scared he wouldn't find Gerard.

He was to the station in minutes, the only car being there being Ray's. It was a small place and he was the only one working there that day. He would be alone. Alone with Frank and if Mikey was lucky, Gerard.

He stopped his car, he didn't sense anything was wrong. He didn't sense anything was deadly. But there was the feeling in his gut in the way the clouds hung in the sky, watching, waiting for him to find something that made him scream. The weather was even on edge, it was still, it was quite, it was...nice. It was the unsettling kind of nice. The nice that made you want to itch your head out.

On second thought, maybe he did sense something.

He walked inside, observing the blood patterns that seemed to be splattered farther inside. It was clean, the walls, or at least the ones not covered in red liquid. He felt like glue, he didn't want to run into whatever had happened. But he did. He did soon enough.

He turned his head, and there was Ray. He was slumped over in his chair, but you could tell by the blood that had pooled on his white shirt, he was dead.

Mikey was the first to discover the body. He patted down his hair.

The cruel killer had him sitting up, in his chair. There was two wounds, one to the left of his heart and the other right in his head. He could have survived the first wound with a little luck. But no, that asshole had to shatter Mikey's life and take Ray's. Mikey was so lonely.

He had fallen to the floor. He had started to cry a river, he cried so hard, he speculated that it could mingle with the blood.

He called the only person he could trust that wasn't missing in action. He called Bob, who had been taking a cigarette break between class when he called.

He still remembered the sirens. Wasn't it ironic having to call the police when you were in a police station?

He remembered crying. He remembered hugging and he remembered feeling so alone. God, Mikey was so alone.

He shrugged on his jacket. The wind whistled against the windows. A rouge tree begged to come in by banging against it.

He was alone and even the plants knew it, they wanted to comfort him. He was alone. And if it didn't hit him days ago, when Gerard was gone and Ray was dead, it did now.

Mikey was alone. He situated his collar. The flat was empty. There was nothing but him and the eerie silence to fill it.

He fixed his tie. But not if he found Gerard again before Frank killed him. Him and silence. The creaking of silence.

He looked at himself, one last time in the mirror. He just had to find Gerard. He just had to find his brother. Then there would be the kind of comforting silence. The silence you knew you could break without hurting your hands in the process.

Then he wouldn't be alone again. He didn't want to be alone again.

It could be almost normal again. He begged to be normal again. To do normal things. To get drunk and do normal college shit.

But he knew that was a futile attempt. He knew it was a shot in the dark. But it was a shot nonetheless. Even if it killed someone in the process.

He just wanted to find his brother. He just wanted Gerard to come home.

He would find him, Gerard would come home. He would come home, eventually. Mikey had faith.

Do you, reader?

 


	4. The Sunny Escapades of the Escaped and Condemned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes, hello it is that time of week again. Well, I don't have anything to say for this chapter but if you do comments are appreciated!

The funeral was starchy and Mikey stood near the back for the whole thing. Ray's parents came to talk to him, they looked at him with eyes that held much more pity than they did sadness for themselves. He was the one to find the body after all. He was the poor unfortunate soul. The friend, dragged into all of this. He was the one that should have came and cried. He had therapy every weekend now.

He would meet with a lady and he would lay down on her leather couch thing and they would talk and that would be the only solid socialization he got. He had only been going for one session and he already knew that at the rate like this, talking to people wouldn't happen for months.

He was okay with that. He was tired of talking to people who just looked at him like he was a shell of a person. They were right. They were all right and that was one of the things that made Mikey hate himself even more. They had figured him out, they knew him now.

Ray's death had stripped him of his being. It had stripped him of his skin. So now he was just empty, a skeleton with intestines and ligaments and the gory insides of everything out in the outside. He wasn't meant to be a skeleton.

It was sunny, cold. The kind of day that made you want to look out the window and clean your house or some shit. It would have been a nice day. If he wasn't watching a body being dropped into the ground. If the people around him weren't dressed in black attire, on contrast to the beautiful day.

It would have been a good day if his friend was still alive.

His eyes would not stop tearing up all throughout. He could keep from outright crying, but they still came and choked him. It was funny how tears made your eyes feel dry. It was funny how he felt dead inside at a funeral. Or maybe just a bit ironic. Or maybe just as pitiful as how he looked that day.

He hadn't brushed his hair. He just threw a hat on top of it. So the tendrils knotted into themselves and made the hat not sit right. He must have looked nuts.

As the funeral went on he noticed little things about himself that he didn't pick up before he left his house.

His tie was crooked, his coat was in disarray. And he was sure he had forgotten to put on socks. He was a total fucking mess and he knew that everyone could see it. He suddenly grew very uncomfortable, holding himself closer in, wringing his hands. Oh God, there were things that got him

He shivered, standing there, long after everyone had left and gotten to stare at him in concern. The lump of earth that was uneven with everything else reminded him of the lump he was starting to make from biting his lip. It was bleeding. He was bleeding. It tasted metallic and sweet. It blossomed like warmth against his tongue. He let his tongue fondle the angry cut. He held his lip, absentmindedly.

The day started to dip down, everyone leaving, the sentimental stragglers gone long ago. It was him, it was just Mikey now. He bore holes into the dirt that was residing over Ray.

There was no one except him, at least in his mind. The logical side of him wasn't too sure that he was all there anymore. So it was possible that he could just be completely oblivious to everyone that is actually there.

All that mattered was that Ray was six feet under. He would never come to his house again. He would never be in front of him again. He wanted to dig through the soil and tell Ray that he was sorry one last time. Or maybe just tell him how much he meant to him. This couldn't be the last of it. That was his best friend. They had never even said goodbye.

If only he had told him sooner, or not told him at all. Or found out sooner. God, it was all his fault. It was all his fault with his terrible timing and telling Ray in the first place. He had opened up a can of worms that cut everyone at the party.

Ray's death was all his fault. He felt like lacerations, little lacerations like paper cuts, were under his skin. He wanted to claw at his being, his body, his existence.

He wanted to rip out his hair, or rip out his skeletal system. Then there would be the reverse problem of what he had now.

He shifted in his clothes, becoming a smaller version of himself as he turned inward to his own body. He looked warily to those around him. There was no one. Even the most dedicated mourners had gone home. Mikey was just staying there to torture himself, if he had to be truthful.

He looked to the nothingness, the rustling of the trees that seemed oh so conspicuous. Too conspicuous. But he would leave them alone, as long as they left him alone. As long as the whole world left him alone. At least for a little while.

Mikey let himself shift his attention back to the grave.

Ray's epitaph read something cheesy. But even though Mikey hated it, he was terrified that he would come back in a few years to torture himself with the memories of him and the words would be washed away. And he wouldn't be Ray Toro anymore. He would just be part of the unnamed dead.

He knew that his memory could not live forever. He had to die something, get lost sometime. Mikey had to let go. But right now he couldn't. So he let his eyes trace the words til he was sure he could say them in his sleep. He had to remember it.

He was taunting himself this way. He was hurting himself. He was sure it was unhealthy. But he could not look away. It was all his fault. Everything was his fault.

He lost his brother and his best friend and because of that he would lose everyone else. Everyone would see him and blame him. His parents blamed him. He knew that they blamed him, even though they didn't say anything. He knew it in the way they looked at each other and they looked at him when they thought he wasn't looking. They felt bad for him, they blamed him.

They had come over days before, when Mikey was sitting in bed with his thoughts and the frost on the windows. He remembered it well because that was the first time he had talked to anyone but himself in a few days.

They blamed him. They blamed him. They always blamed him. He had lost Gerard. He had been the one to get Ray murdered. He was the one to find the bodies. He wasn't good enough. He was never good enough. They knew that. He knew that. So he let them talk, and he let them pity, because at least they still loved him enough to come and visit.

They sat on the edge of his bed like they did when he was fourteen and the first time he experienced a monumental feeling. He felt inferior and he cried himself to sleep after they left. It was three pm. But it doesn't seem to matter anymore, does it?

“Um, hello...?” said a figure, waltzing up to Mikey in a way that made it seem like it was not a funeral but a poetry reading at a coffee shop on a Friday night.

Mikey wiped the insanity and sleep from his eyes, not getting it all the way, only smearing it, really. He looked up at the stranger. His eyes were wild and bitter but the stranger wasn't taken aback, he wasn't even amused, he was just professional.

“Hello,” Mikey answered in a deadpan voice. He went back to staring at the patch of dirt, uneven with the grass. Funerals were cruel. But death was crueler. So mortals had to retaliate with something. He understood. He just didn't want to.

The answer was cold. He really didn't mean it to be. Or maybe he did. Maybe he was just a bit regretful because this stranger was cute and he was depressed.

He stared at the ground, ignoring the stranger who continued to try to talk to him. He was sort of confused by how chipper he was, being that they were in a fucking graveyard and Mikey obviously had just lost a loved one.

“I came to pay my respects to Ray. A friend of mine couldn't make it to give his, so I went for him,” he said, shrugging.

“That's a little odd,” Mikey's face perked up as much as a grieving person's could. His eyes shifted to the stranger. The stranger glanced back, his cheeks going red in only the most gorgeous array of sunset anatomies. Like the red that graced the high point of the horizon.

“Yes, I suppose. But I was in town and it was important to him. I'm Pete, by the way,” he said, giving his hand to Mikey. The sunset still lingered.

Mikey scrutinized his hand, it was fairly tan. A deeper color than the average human, but no, tan was not the right word for it. Mikey looked up from tracing the lines on his hand before he got too lost in himself again.

That reminded Mikey, whose hand had gone to the stranger's, to shake and eclipse, to look at the horizon. Everyone had left hours before at around mid afternoon. So the sun was now setting. The days were getting shorter. The sun was setting, behind the wilting trees. The sun was setting and all he could think about was this stranger's skin on his and Ray's casket.

The sun was like his cheeks. Mikey wanted to fall in love with this stranger. This stranger that looked like the most blazing ending that Mikey had ever seen. Maybe that was a good thing.

“Mikey,” his voice whispered out when he looked out, like this stranger, this Pete, was ablaze. He was completely awestruck. Maybe him only talking to his therapist for the next few months was inadequate. Maybe he would talk to Pete, the funeral man. He didn't look any older than Mikey.

“I know,” he smiled. The smile was set into soft cheeks, prominent but gentle.

The way he said it was coy, cryptic, but it was said in the manner that laid Mikey in a casket lines with downy feathers. It wasn't hard, it wasn't cocky. It was a story in it's own and Mikey already knew the entirety of it.

Pete's lips had been turned up at the edges, the soft delivery of the musical phrase turning his lips, pink with the shivering cool and the dying light, into a key. A skeleton key.

Mikey was right to want to fall in love with this stranger. In fact, as he reluctantly let go of his hand, letting his own slip like sand, soft, scarred, and changed sand, he could tell he already was.

Mikey didn't question the stranger. He just let himself sink into his smile. He needed something else to put himself in. The dirt of the cemetery could only take so much. But Pete looked strong and deep and looked like he could wrap himself around Mikey and take the sadness away. He hoped.

“I'm sorry for your loss,” Pete said, hands in his pockets.

Mikey shrugged, he resisted the urge to shiver the condolence off. He just settled for explaining. “If I never have to hear that again, I'll die a content man,” he spat out.

Pete chuckled, soft. He liked his cynicism. He liked the fact that he was so over pity. He could get to liking Mikey Way.

Even though it was totally and completely unwise of him to do so with his stature as the Way-Iero fiasco confidant.

He could get his foot into another sticky mess. He seemed to be able to pull out when the time came well enough.

“Would it be rude to ask you to coffee while we are standing in a cemetery?” Pete asked, his nose scrunched up in thought as the pants of his slacks wrinkled with his fiddling hands inside of them. The sun was shining in his eyes as he looked up at Mikey. He was only a few inches taller. Not even taller than the average guy. But Pete was tiny and he hated that. So he settled for that. He settled for staring upward, at least a few inches.

“I don't suppose so,” Mikey said to the man staring up at him. Maybe things were looking up. Maybe things were going to get better and he was going to find Gerard and maybe he would even kill Frank.

That was a long shot, no matter what scummy shit he did to his brother. Mikey would not stoop to his level. He would just get justice. Justice, yeah. That would be what he would get by the end of things.

He trudged down a hill of the dead with Pete, talking with him while all in his head he was planning to become a hero and save his brother. He would save his brother.

They reached Pete's car, the semi-stranger offering to drive the both of them down to get a coffee. It was late but Mikey needed some company. Or maybe just a distraction.

Yeah, Pete was a distraction. He was something to fill the ever aching silence. But that was okay, because Mikey was sure he knew it.

If only they had met at a different time. If only they had met at a time where Mikey was quite sure he was stitching himself up. Maybe then they would work better.

Maybe then Mikey would have to be searching inside himself for minutes at a time to find something to talk about. He was usually pretty talkative. But that was before his life fell apart, of course.

Mikey was sure Pete didn't mind. He filled the awkward gaps with childhood stories or something equally as innocent.

Mikey wanted to kiss Pete. Just on the cheek. Just to show him how grateful he was for him coming to his rescue.

Mikey was sure that he would have stayed in the graveyard till they kicked him out (if they did that in graveyards). So he was happy that Pete whisked him away.

Though it would be a one time thing probably it was still nice of him. And it didn't seem like a pity case. Not really, anyway.

“So Mikey, um, how did you know Ray? If I can ask?” Pete wondered out loud. He pulled at his collar. He was scared he would explode. He was scared that Mikey would break out into tears or something equally horrible and he didn't want that to happen. He just wanted to get Mikey out of his shell.

This was probably not the best idea, but Mikey was numb to anything except for the inside of Pete's car right now so he answered it with almost no emotion.

“He was my best friend. And I mean, if you want the whole convoluted story, my brother's boyfriend murdered him,” Mikey said. He was really tempted to ask Pete if he had any hard liquor on him, because for as little as he had known Pete he knew he was curious and one for stepping over boundaries just a little bit. So he would want to hear the whole story.

“What?!” he asked. He was good at acting. Of course, he already knew the story. Frank had told him over the phone days before when they were setting up for the runaway, or at least, the safe haven. Frank had told him, but Mikey didn't know that. And he was cute, so he didn't want Mikey to know. It would get much more messed up if he did.

“Yeah,” Mikey said, and he launched into the whole story, a little bit more eager to tell it to someone who wouldn't look at him like he as a sick puppy when he was finished than what he would think was normal. He just wanted someone that would understand him. He wanted someone to tell all these bubbling feelings to.

Pete would get it. Pete would understand. And if he didn't there was no harm no foul, just another ugly, pitying face. And then Mikey would go home and start looking for his kicks somewhere else, or wilt in bed.

But Pete listened throughout the whole story, nodding his head and looking occasionally at him. He understood! He understood. Mikey was so glad that he understood. He was the only one beside himself.

Mikey continued to talk, even when they were at their destination. Pete continued to let him talk well into the time that they got there.

He finished his story, detailed and wrought with angst while they were sitting there. It was dark, finally, by the time Mikey finished. Pete just looked at him in awe.

Now, you have to understand something about Pete. He heard the story from Frank's side (with several interjections from Gerard) so he got all of the clueless one's side, he got the innocence of the story from someone who was virtually clueless. And he got the narration of the fear that Mikey felt for his brother. He understood now. He understood the faraway look on his face. He knew now.

He told Mikey this, the part about him understanding, he wouldn't dare share any piece of his correspondence with Gerard and Frank with Mikey. He could never know. He would never know. No matter how much it was already starting to kill him.

Mikey kissed him, hopping over, latching his arms around him, pressing slightly chapped lips to his cheek. It was completely innocent and totally lonely. Mikey was completely innocent and totally lonely.

And Pete could help with the last thing, but he could not corrupt him, he could not tell him. As much as Frank was his friend, he could not turn them into Gerard and Frank. They would not be Gerard and Frank. They would be normal, they would be happy.

But for now, they would just go inside and get coffee.

* * * * * *

Gerard and Frank checked out of their little hotel, dingy upon a more analytic look, by noon of the day of the dancing. Gerard had finished crying and his face was the same shade of pale white it usually was.

They were back on the road by one pm, having taken the liberty to get dinner somewhere. It was a bit of a risk but it was worth it because they were the best pancakes Gerard had had in years. And Frank just wanted to make him happy, even if that meant they had to be extra careful showing their face and maybe they had to get out of there because the television had been switched to the story that so happened to carry their legacy.

They had seen themselves. Gerard, the victim, Frank the captor. It was trippy.

The woman spoke in her articulate tone, over voicing the pictures of Gerard they showed.

“Gerard Way was taken hostage by Frank Iero after going to visit his boyfriend who murdered a cop just days before and is suspected to be The Jay, the serial killer that has haunted New Jersey,” she paused for effect before going on.

“Frank Iero has taken the innocent man hostage and is now on the run from authorities. No correspondence has been made between the police and the killer involving the hostage,” she said before Frank tuned everything back out.

It was perfect, they still thought that Gerard was innocent and that he was a hostage. But there was a skipped stitch in his step, they were not supposed to find out he was The Jay. No one was supposed to know that. Now, everyone would be looking for him.

Gerard was finishing his first pancake, staring happily out the window as Frank tugged his wallet out of his pocket, paying with cash.

They left, Gerard being tapped gently as to not arouse suspicion. He looked at Frank, bummed at the last pancake that could not be finished.

They left with no fanfare. Thank God.

Frank slipped into the front seat, Gerard shotgun. “Did you hear that, babe? They still think you're innocent,” Frank said.

“Yeah! They said something about negotiations, too,” Gerard said. His eyebrows raised.

“What are you implying, doll?” Frank asked his impish lover.

“Oh, I don't know, we could use the money we're given to help us get to Portland,” Gerard said, playing with the hem of his worn out Iron Maiden shirt.

“How'd they get the money to us?” Frank asked.

“Oh, you're right,” Gerard slapped his forehead. His impish ways stopped as he turned to chastise himself. “I'm stupid,” he said. He smacked his forehead with an open palm again. His lips were pouting.

“Oh, no baby, quit,” Frank said, he took his hand, putting it in his. “We can figure something out, okay?” he said.

Gerard's forehead was slightly red from where he smacked himself. He looked up with meek eyes through girly eyelashes. “Okay,” he said slowly.

He was in a sort of little space so Frank had to talk slower with this form of Gerard.

“Hey, we can use the telephone and call your brother, okay? And we can tell him to send the money up to the place we're staying,” Frank said. It was something off the top of his head, but anything to make Gerard feel better.

“But then they'd find out where we'd live,” Gerard said.

“Yeah, maybe we can work something else out,” Frank agreed, bobbing his head to notice what it was going to be next. “Um, maybe they can send it to the next hotel we're staying at?” he said.

“Alright,” Gerard said. “That would be kind of difficult, right?” he asked.

“No, we can just get a hotel and tell him to send the money,” he added the next part, breath tickling Gerard's ear, a teasing sort of ominous that made Gerard giggle and get a little bit harder. “or I blow your fucking brains out.”

It was weird that this was what they got their kicks from. But Gerard wasn't complaining because Frank looked fucking delicious.

“Mmm, you wouldn't,” Gerard said, sliding his body closer to Frank's.

It was suddenly twenty degrees hotter in their bright car.

“I wouldn't. But you would look so cute all dead and bloodied up,” Frank said.

“Oh, Frankie. And you'd look hot wasting me,” he said. He created friction against their torsos, Gerard wanting him.

But Frank knew that they had to get going because they were in the parking lot of a restaurant in the middle of the day. They could not fuck.

But it seemed so lovely. The fact that Gerard wanted all of Frank all the time and was ready to do fucked up shit for him as long as Frank did it looking hot enough.

Gerard was the best thing that had ever happened to Frank.

They kissed, lips capturing each other's like fishing lures, ensnared. The hooks of their mouths hooked on each other. They both tasted so divine.

The kiss was filled with passion till Gerard pulled away for air, wiping at his wet, red lips. Fran tore his gaze away, breathing heavily as he started the car up in the high afternoon sun.

* * * * * *

Gerard's feet were kicked up on the dashboard, clean and happy and he was so happy, he was content. His little lolita looked like a supernova, the light hitting his face, making him look almost godlike. He was beautiful. And it looked like he knew it.

His neck was stretching and he reminded Frank of a cat, basking in the sun. His skin was pale and white, glowing. He was basking in the glory of freedom, no matter how many terrible things loomed in the darkness above them.

“Today,” a pause for effects, “I feel insane,” he sighed. His fingers touched on the window. It was sunny, cool but sunny. Gerard looked to Frank, bemused. His fingers were still itching themselves along the glass pane.

He was so beautiful it made Frank's heart ache. It drove him wild. He was so glad he got the honor of loving him and destroying him.

“You wanna kill somebody today, babe?” Frank asked. He smiled, wide and gaudy, teeth shining in the afternoon. This was their time to bond together as lovers again. They never got a chance to do that. Not really, anyway. There was always something in the way.

He was ready for Gerard to want this. He was ready for Gerard to be melded to him. He was ready to keep him by his side.

Gerard would not leave when Frank showed him such gorgeous carnage. He would not want to. He would be left there, next to him, sitting next to him. Stuck to him. He would never leave because Frank would teach him nothing besides dependency. He had to have Gerard forever. But Gerard was happy to stay by his side, no brainwashing required.

He was ready for forever and it seemed his lover was, too. Gerard smiled at him, his hair whipping in the wind around his face, making him look a bit like a dream. Like a summertime fantasy of everything good that Frank could have ever thought about. Gerard was it, Gerard was the most gorgeous thing Frank had ever seen and it seemed, the most sensible.

“We can kill when the darkness comes,” Gerard decided, his lips moving in soft synchronization with his thoughts. They could stab and kill and feast and feel in the darkness, in the velvet twilight. Things would be okay in the dark, when it spun like a cloak around them. They would be close and entwined and dark.

His heart skipped with all the carnage that would be crushed into the night. There would be blood and there would be guts and death and screams. He shuddered in anticipation just thinking about it. God, wouldn't it be beautiful?

The light was nice, it was warm and bright and light. But sometimes you needed to be choked, and the night could do that to you.

Gerard was very much in love with the darkness.

And that was why he fell in love with Frank.

“Yeah, we can do it tonight,” Frank said. He smiled, it had turned into a slow simmer of happiness and reassurance for his baby boy. They would have so much fun burning the world to the ground.

He grabbed at his hand, holding their fingers together, delicately. Gerard looked down at them, Frank was getting tanner now that he was out in the sunlight almost constantly. But Gerard was still pale. Gerard was still the same shade of sickly ivory.

His fingers were delicate, more so than Frank's tattooed and calloused hands. His were soft, but Frank's were home.

Gerard looked out the window, gratification on his face.

This was how they worked now, Frank realized. This was how they were. No dating. No, they were not scheduling anything normal. No movie marathons, no checking out that new shop, no restaurants. No, they went and they decided when they would kill someone. They were vagabonds, nomads. He just realized that.

They weren't normal, one bit.

Frank found himself kind of hating it.

He just wanted to hug Gerard and hold him and be happy with him. He wanted to be normal and act innocent for a little while. When Gerard was, he could at least pretend he was, too. Now they were both just rolling around in filth. He wanted to wake up next to Gerard and sme at him and get married in a few years and own a house.

Oh, God, they would never do that, they would never have kids. He was having an existential crisis just thinking about it. They would never move past this, they would never grow old together.

This was all they would be. They would be fast lovers. They would be fire. They would be lolita. They would continue to be this _thing_. They wouldn't be anything but this. 

But he could not complain. Because he had Gerard and that should have been enough for his greedy tastes.

But no, it wasn't. And he wasn't happy when he really thought about it and neither was Gerard. No matter how much they smiled about it. No matter how much they lied about it. No matter how much they stared at each other and told each other they loved each other. They would never be perfect, they would always be disjointed.

Yesterday was fun, yesterday was soft and it as Gerard and it was Frank and they were together, cosmic. Yesterday they danced and they were desperate for each other. They were close, yesterday. They were close, always. But it was just awkward friction. It was just chafing.

Frank could feel himself start to dull on the subject of running away. Why would he abandon Gerard? He wanted to be the to be the only one to preserve him. He wanted to be the only one Gerard thought about and the only one he saw. He wanted to be Gerard's everything and he wanted Gerard to be his. So why was he so hung up on their imperfections?

He could tell Gerard worried about it, too.

Maybe it was the looming of a new murder on their backs that made them start to crack and ache. Maybe it was the fact that they were really criminals setting in with the fact that they had to leave that diner before Gerard had started his last pancake.

Maybe it was the fact that the light only seemed to bring out the worse in him. In them.

* * * * * *

In a few hours and farther away Gerard was still sat next to Frank, staring at the window and sometimes talking but for the most part staying in pleasant silence. Twilight darkened the horizon, darkened the trees, brightened the accents in the car. His finger flicked on the illuminated window opener, making the snapping sound a few times before just tracing along it. Evening finally seeped in, setting in as more hours passed.

Gerard was getting tired. Their night had been long, day longer. But everything seemed to move so fast. They were moving so fast. Not fast enough. Too fast. Gerard shoke his head, no one would get them.

Mikey would not find them. How was Mikey? How was his brother who he had fucking lied to? Was he sad? Was he worried? Was he upset and Gerard? Did he find out.

Dear God, don't let him find out. Gerard couldn't be a monster. Gerard couldn't be a monster to the one person whose opinion would matter. Frank mattered, of course, but Frank was insane. Just like Gerard. Frank wouldn't mind doing some twisted shit. Mikey was normal, he would think he was weird and gross and sick and disgusting. All of the things that Gerard couldn't be towards him. Gerard had to be remembered as his brother, not a monster.

That would just make everything all too real. And if this road trip was proving anything it was proving that Gerard couldn't stand reality.

Darkness came, hours falling behind them in the shape of roads and landmarks and trees. Some signs pointed out how many miles they were from towns and cities. Around sixty to the capitol of this state. What state were they in? Fucking delusion.

They were farther away from their past with everything on their road and Frank was more relieved with every mile.

Frank glanced at the clock to the side of them. He had been eager to do this for hours now, since it came up really. “Now, baby?” he asked. It was sufficiently dark, the night dipping it's fingers into the back of it's patrons jeans'. It was nine pm, the night in full swing. The time was right, they just had to find a victim. Then the fun would begin.

“Yes! Yes, Frankie,” Gerard said, bouncing in his seat. He clapped his hands, wiggling, he was excited for this. He was ready for this to be started. He was ready for the wheels to start turning for them. God, he was turned on just thinking about all that carnage.

Gerard was grinning like the madman he was, his eyes bright.

Frank grinned with him. Maybe he didn't mind being normal as much as he wanted to think he did.

“Alright, baby, we'll pick up a hitchhiker?” Frank asked. He glanced towards Gerard, his lover keen on the plan already, having many expectations for this fiasco.

“And take him to the forest and spill his fucking guts!” Gerard said, he was so excited, talking animatedly. You would think he was a child asking for ice cream.

Frank was more subdued, but probably more excited than Gerard was, for more reasons than just the thrill of a good murder.

Frank was so excited to show Gerard this part of his being and have Gerard want to be a part of it. He was relieved that fate had so given him this equally horrible person that was disproportionately glorious to Frank. He was so perfect. Frank wanted to kiss him and love him and bathe in the blood of the world with him. God, they would murder _everybody_. Just to prove their love.

“That's the spirit, dollface. Then I am going to take you back here and smear blood all over your body and I will fuck you so hard that you can't even speak,” Frank said. The weird things turned him on, as did Gerard.

Gerard's eyes went from their bright form of excited to a darker one, a lustful one. His voice went husky and his jeans tighter.

“I'm hard already,” he said and he went to slip his hand in Frank's. The nerve endings of affection and eroticism lighted a torch of their hands entwined.

Anyone else Frank would have said that to would have been running for the hills. Not Gerard, not his pretty little boy.

So fuck normal, and fuck conventional. They were themselves. At least for a little while.

 


	5. The Danger of The Way Brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took a long time and I just got it finished so hopefully since I have Easter Break this whole week I can get a good start on next chapter.  
> Enjoy!

“Kill, kill, kill, babydoll,” Frank called to Gerard as they spotted their first victim. He squeezed his lover's hand in excitement, encouragement, reassurance .It was alright to kill, it would be okay to because Frank was there. That hand squeeze let Gerard know that.

The car had been going on for sometime, trying to find the perfect hitchhiker. There was the couple. They were too much. There were the bigger ones, the one that could get away. All of them were wrong until they got to this one. This one, that was a diamond in the victim ruff.

It was a pale girl, skinny and thin, completely fairy like. She was dainty, that was the only word to describe her small, little bones. Her existence was ethereal. Her hair was such a pale blonde that it glowed in the night. Her hair fluttered around her and Gerard was sure she was just an enigma. She must have been freezing. She looked so delicate in the night that Gerard just had to ruin her and Frank couldn't agree more.

Gerard and Frank had unanimously decided on this little earth child as their victim because she was so small and easily overpowered. She looked so innocent. She was so pale. She was paler than Gerard.

It would be so fun to splatter her blood.

Frank stopped the car next to the girl, Gerard peering out at the child. He was the friendlier of the two, Frank never seemed to manage to be sweet to people other than Gerard.

“Hey, kiddo? Where are your parents? What are you doing out here?” he asked.

She must have been really cold because just talking with his head near the window was giving him the chills.

Her hair whipped in the wind as she answered with blue lips. “I'm getting away. I have to get away,” she said. She looked side from side, holding herself closer to herself, shaking, shivering, more. She was on edge, the only person she would trust was herself and she was already scared.

Gerard would be scared too if he was running away and it was pitch black when he did it. And being a woman there was the added extra of weirdos.

She looked up at the moon for a moment, her face pale white, seeping down her neck. She was ivory in that moment.

Frank couldn't wait to see if her ribs were as white as her.

She looked back down at them, Gerard asking her a few more questions to satisfy his acting and secure the girl's trust.

“Hey, hop in, girlie. What's your name? Where you going?” Gerard asked, genuine concern etched across his face. Frank couldn't tell if that was his innocence shining through or if he was a good actor. He hoped it wasn't the former because he didn't want to have his little boy breaking down once they killed her. He couldn't drive and hold Gerard at the same time. They would either have to stop and risk their cover or Gerard would get seriously damaged.

“It's Natalie. I'm just trying to get to the train station. You aren't gonna rape me or anything?” she asked, warily getting in. She trembled as her long legs slithered in. Gerard was sure she was shivering, not because of the cool weather of the night, but also because she was fucking terrified. He loved terrified.

“No,” Gerard chuckled, but they would do much worse, “We're total homos,” he snorted.

“My family says all gays go to hell,” Natalie remarked absentmindedly, while buckling up. She was by the door, examining it for the child lock thing that nearly everyone could just yank up. There was one so she laid back in the seat, a bit easier.

“But I don't think that,” she said quickly. She settled her hands on her lap, looking out the window. “That's why I wanted to get away. They were religious nuts,” she scoffed.

So she wasn't just a teenage rebel who was angry at her daddy for not letting her date some boy. Frank would have guessed that that would be it.

“That evangelical shit?” Frank asked for the first time speaking since the girl got in.

“Yeah,” she said, flipping her long hair over her shoulder. “They, like, think no one that would benefit from Jacksonian Democracy is lower than them,” she elaborated further. The girl was fairly witty, but in the fact that her wit was transparent.

She shook her head, looking out the window, silent from further on.

She must have been local because within thirty minutes of them driving she noticed that they were not going in the direction of the train station.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked, hand on the handle, squinting to see through the layers of darkness the car was cutting through.

“Do you believe in God, Natalie?” Frank asked her in his most ominous tone.

Even Gerard's blood ran cold at what he said. Because he sure as fuck didn't. Where do godless gay serial killers go anyway when they die? Nowhere pretty. Nowhere pretty.

Frank was something pretty, sitting there next to him, excitement of the kill fermenting in his veins.

“What the fuck are you going to do to me?!” she asked, yanking at the locked door. The girl was panicking now, her seat belt off and her hair around her face, static and watching them with wide eyes.

Frank chuckled but Gerard really felt bad for her. She was like a caged bird, prodded at, starving, scared. She was terrified.

Frank looked to Gerard who was not having nearly as much fun as he was. He was not used to it yet, it was sort of gross when Frank did it first, but he got used to it. Liked it. Gerard was just like him, a few kills and it'll be fun.

“See the thing, Natalie, dear, we kill people,” Frank elaborated. He flashed a grin at the girl breaking down.

“Oh, God!” she sobbed. She stared at the ceiling of her death cab, would this be her hearse? This would be. She would die in only hours, and if she didn't, she would have wished she had.

Her heart jumped further into her throat as she thought about the mortality of it all. She was going to die. She was going to die. She wouldn't live to see the sunrise. Was this some sick joke?

“We spill their guts,” Gerard said, shrugging. This was the first time he had talked since Frank divulged they were killers. A wicked grin spread across his face in support of his sentence.

The last shred of hope she had diminished. Even the one who was nice to her was a threat now. She really regretted getting in this car with these strange people. She yanked at the door again. No use, God it was no use. She was going to die in this thing. She was going to die, trapped, caged. She would never be free.

Her wings beat, making her shoulders ache. The sound of the wind through them, made her yearn, reminded her of something that could have been. Her muscles ran with aching pain at the fact she would die soon. They knew. They knew that she would die and she would die tonight.

She couldn't die so soon. She just got the courage to go free and now what happens? She's murdered. She's seventeen, she's smart, she was going to go be something, do something. A ten minute ride to a train station with strangers turned into a undetermined amount of time as someone's prey.

Frank laughed, and Gerard watched amused. This was proving to be pretty fun, he was enjoying himself more than he thought. Better than Frank expected.

There wasn't any freaking out, very little hesitation or discomfort. He was beautiful and he was composed. He was having fun with this. As much fun as Frank was.

Maybe he wasn't weak after all. Maybe he was strong, maybe he was dead inside like Frank was. Maybe he could take this and they wouldn't fall apart. Maybe.

“P-please let me out, please. I can't die, not like this, not right now,” she sobbed. Her hands pressed against the sides of the car, anything she could get to, spreading her negative feelings against anything in the backseat. She was breathless in all the worst ways, heaving for being in too small of a space, too small of a time. Her lungs couldn't get enough, excited too fast and her head felt light. Could she put herself out of her misery by breathing so hard she passed out? Or would life be too cruel?

Natalie continued to breathe, heavy, erratic, the two lovers in the front seat not too concerned for her well being. Why would they? They were the ones to bring it on, they were the ones to take it off. They would be the ones to put her out of her needless misery.

They were the problem, death was the problem, they would be the solution, death was the medicine. This was all too confusing.

Were they really gonna kill her? Were they going to ruin her and leave her to die? She didn't want to be left to die. She didn't want to disappear. She was going to disappear.

_Please, don't let me disappear. Please, I don't want to die, not yet. I want to live, at least through someone else's thoughts._

She desperately prayed, eyes shut tight that someone would remember her, at least for a little while. 

Would her parents come looking? Who would discover her body? Would they scream when they saw her? If she floated away when she died would she be able to recognize her own body? Would she scream? Would she cry? Would she even feel herself slipping away? Would she be scared? Would she be scared? Would she be scared? 

Would she hurt?

She would die tonight. It was starting to dawn on her. Horrible things, horrible injustices would be done to her tonight. She would hurt tonight. She was more frightened of that than she was of dying.

They drove further, deeper. Gerard looked to the clock, they had been driving for some time now, and Natalie was trying to calm down, breathing subsiding. She was smart. She knew she was going to die. She didn't fight it, not anymore. No, she just waited for death. She waited for the pitiful misery to come. She didn't try anymore.

She could wait for death.

They had broken her. The girl had accepted fate, accepted her luck. He was glad that she was so calm about this. He couldn't deal with anymore crying or pleading.

Gerard wondered what it was like to face your own mortality like a ticking clock. He would have pissed his pants. But he was sure he faced mortality in his fever dream with Frank.

Gerard didn't say anything. He didn't think it appropriate. The silence was not uncomfortable, not for those in the front seat. But it would have eaten Gerard alive if not for Frank's presence.

Natalie was falling to silent pieces, and she knew that she could do nothing about it.

Gerard took Frank's lone hand, fixing himself into where he most belonged. It was soft and warm inside of him. He felt safe. He felt bad Natalie didn't feel safe.

He wanted to take her home and tuck her into bed and he wanted to get her to the train station. He wanted to spill her guts more. A part of him really wanted him to be a better person. Half of him wanted to turn into whatever Frank was and die.

They drove into the woods, convoluted trails mingling with trees and bumps and Natalie almost wet herself. This was a labyrinth of death and she was a labyrinth of panic. She didn't want to die. She would die. She would die.

This would be the night she would feel the pain to cause her death. She would die tonight and she was just starting to wrap her head around it. Tonight would be her last breath and she couldn't even believe it yet.

Frank rolled to a stop in a place that Natalie could not make out. It was too dark to make it out, she had no idea how they could see. The trees were too dark on the moon to see anything. She could make out black masses. That was it.

“Gerard,” he said, nodding his head.

His lover understood, grabbing at the thin, young girl. She didn't fight back anymore. She was terrified of what would happen. She would just make them angry, she didn't know where she was, she could not outrun them. She could never get free.

She looked dead, her dark eyes reaching the ground with tenacity that was admirable. She did not look at her captors and they ignored her silent little temper tantrum.

She was flimsy in their hands like a rag doll. She followed their lead, putting her hands together for them, holding them forward for Gerard to gently take hold of.

Could one person so quickly let go of humanity? Or was she just waiting for her retinas to die so the sun would rise?

He grabbed her arms, holding her at the wrists like they were children playing cops and robbers. This was real life and this was murder and abduction and this was a girl from the side of the road that they duped into getting into their car like a fucking Lifetime film.

“Got any duct tape in your trunk, babe?” Frank asked Gerard. He was more nonchalant about this. Gerard wondered how often he did it. He knew he killed, but how often did he have to take them away and tie them up and play with his food?

“Probably,” he replied, holding Natalie more steady. She would not run, but with the biggest threat rummaging through the trunk and one hand holding her arms together, she could, she could run and hit a tree in he darkness. She wasn't stupid. She just wanted to be hopeful.

“It's my first time,” Gerard told the girl, he looked proud, he looked excited to have been doing this. His little smile showed his innocence and the naivety. She was disgusted at his eagerness.

He wanted her to liven up, even though this was her execution. Reminding her probably wasn't the best for her, yet.

She didn't say anything, she wouldn't give him the time. She just wanted to be by herself, with her thoughts for a while. She wanted to be alone in her death, like a dog crawling under a porch.

Gerard looked away from her and to Frank for a moment before continuing. His eyes shone with pride in the light of the moon. He loved the man looking through his trunk so much.

“But Frankie, Frankie's killed _so_ many. He's a pro. He's killed almost about fifty now. And he's so talented. Hasn't gotten caught yet, they're onto us, but, Frankie's too good for them to catch,” he said, shaking his head at the black mass of his lover.

“He's beautiful,” he finished, sighing.

“You seem to love him,” Natalie said. Could a killer have such compassion? Twisted, sinister empathy? She could hardly fathom it. He loved this other man, more dangerous man. Natalie was skeptical Frank loved him back. Was Gerard just brainwashed into thinking that his lover was the all shining sun?

“Yeah, yeah, I do. He's, God, he's the best thing that ever happened to me,” Gerard said. His eyes were shining and Natalie, the victim, left it at that. She wanted to pity the brainwashed man, but he seemed so happy and yet so informed on whatever was going on she left it. Maybe they were in love. Maybe they were a couple of fucked up guys looking for some kicks. Maybe those fucked up guys happened to be in love.

“The best?” Natalie asked with a cocked eyebrow, looking to the man holding her wrists.

“The very best, I love him dearly. And he loves me and he will never leave me and never hurt me and we're going to live long and happy and dangerously,” he said proud.

The conversation was fucked up, it was a little twisted, the man staring at the other, shorter one with hope in his face and such a demented sort of overwhelming emotion. But she acted like it was a little normal. It felt like it, two people talking, one dubious, one demented.

Hell, up until Frank found the duct tape and got it around her arms, she almost believed that she was just having a normal conversation, in a normal place. The sticky fiber around her wrists, so tight the bones were knocking together uncomfortably. 

“Alright, babe, come on. I'll show you how it's done,” Frank said to Gerard, patting her wrists. 

Gerard let Natalie follow, holding her arms in front of her as the walked deeper into the woods, deeper than ever possible.

“First, the knockout,” Frank muttered to Gerard, he didn't want the girl freaking out. She would scram if she found out about her inching mortality. But he needed to instruct his baby in the ways of the perfect kill, so he whispered it in his ears, tickling his skin around it, just enough for him to titter lightly.

Gerard nodded, not one second before Frank turns around, slamming the scared girl in the face. The girl that looked like living dead was now sleeping like she was dead.

It was all a flash, her body hitting the forest floor, the flash of pale hair in the light. Gerard looked down to see the innocent, angelic girl laying with her hair splayed out on the ground. It was oddly therapeutic.

“Kill, kill, kill, babydoll,” Frank looked to him again, grinning like crazy and dragging her body.

Gerard followed him, taking her legs and hoisting her up.

They took her deeper into the forest, pale hair so long it almost touched the ground and they were picking her up at least a foot and a half above the ground.

She was sleeping, her eyes closed and the lids a dark lavender as they fluttered underneath themselves. She was dreaming. She was dying. She was going to, anyway.

Gerard had heard that the death of a child caused parents to get divorced fifty percent of the time. Would her parents get divorced? Would they care? Or did she run away for a reason?

Did she run away to have a dream?

Gerard looked down at her swinging body, his arms hurting as Frank took her deeper to his desired spot. 

This was a human, this was a victim. This was blood on Gerard's hands. He was red, red, red. Her hair was white in the moonlight. The trees were black. Red, white, black. Red, white, black. Red, white, black.

This was a human. This was a victim.

He looked ahead, Frank looking back at him. His face must have been serious, grave and troubled. Frank smiled at him.

“You're gonna have a lot of fun, baby. We're gonna have a bunch of fun,” Frank promised him. He smiled at him, face bright in the night. Gerard smiled back. Red. White. Black. Red. White. Black.

He closed his eyes, following Frank. Black. Black. Black. Black. Black.

“What next, Frankie?” he asked, opening his eyes up again.

“The most fun part of the whole game,” Frank grinned wider at him in anticipation.

Gerard looked up at the night sky, the moon had fallen behind the clouds. Black. Black. Black. Black.

* * * * * *

“That's terrible,” Pete said, walking into the coffee shop, holding the door open for Mikey. Mikey ducked under his arm, too tall for the arm, even at it's most stretched.

“It sucks to say that I've gotten used to it,” Mikey said. He shrugged his arms, the heat of the coffee on his palms. He carried the coffees, hot and welcoming. If there was something to make Mikey feel better, it was coffee. The caffeine release was enough to send his mind to jitters and his body to enlightenment. It had been a while since he slept right and too much coffee always reset his system when he was stuck in a rut. 

“I'm sorry. I know that you don't like people saying that, but I have nothing else to say,” Pete said.

Maybe Mikey didn't mind being pitied. As long as it was by a cute guy.

They climbed back into Pete's car, the smell of the coffee circling around them.

It was later, about eight o'clock now. The sun had set finally. It was dark inside Pete's car and Mikey realized that this was the longest he had been out since all this mess. Since he hurt himself that one day after getting drunk. 

He didn't remember it well. It was some friends party. It was him getting shit faced and coming home to hurt his hand. Frank and Gerard cleaned him up. 

Was Frank always a bad guy? Did Mikey just know bad he was? And if he did, why didn't he try to keep him away from Gerard better? Wouldn't he have noticed that Frank was bad news? He had the gut feeling, why didn't he try to save Gerard sooner?

There would be none of this mess if Mikey had just gotten his head out of the gutter and stepped up to the plate. But he didn't, he dicked around and worried too much without doing anything. He was a coward and he didn't do anything.

Now his brother was hurt or he would be hurt and he had been spaced out for way too long and Pete had been looking at him weird for several minutes now. The silence had been suffocating for too long. His thoughts had been smothering. He couldn't breath, for a moment there was a feeling of extreme panic as he realized what was happening but didn't stop it.

“What?” Mikey asked, snapping back into the world. His little world of stress and guilt had sucked him in for a moment too long, a hold too strong.

Pete asked the question that he had minutes before a bit more slower, staring at him in concern. “Would you like me to take you home?” he asked. The question was so nice, like Pete actually cared and wanted him to get home safely or at least wanted to know if he would be okay in the immediate future. Mikey was probably over analyzing it, but it was nice still.

Mikey felt stupid so he tried to crack a bit of a joke. “What kind of woman do you take me for, Pete Wentz?” It was the first he had made in a while and even he didn't really laugh at it.

Pete blushed, looking down for a second. “I-um-” he said, a small, bashful smile on his face. He looked cute, cheeks red, dimples showing.

Mikey just laughed at him, tilting his coffee just a bit so he could drink it. “Yeah, thanks for that,” Mikey said, dismissing Pete's awkward air. The coffee was warm and sweet down his throat.

Gerard liked coffee. Frank liked coffee. Ray never touched the stuff. He couldn't stop thinking about them, he couldn't stop the littlest thing from getting in the way. He was pitiful. He was pitiful but he was having a good time. So he focused back on Pete and the impending doom of fucking him. He knew he was going to fuck him.

Pete smiled along with him, sheepish and soft. He was very cute and Mikey was very reckless. At least now he was.

Usually he was completely sane and analytic. He was level headed and balanced. But then he lost his brother and his best friend so he was feeling ready to fuck a stranger and chug some coffee.

Maybe it was the fact that Gerard was completely gone and that Frank was with him and Ray was dead and his parents probably hated him. Maybe it was the fact that he was alone that made him itch to be touched.

He wanted Pete on him, to distract him for one night. He wanted to fall asleep in the arms of someone who couldn't care and would never care but wouldn't leave him wounded. He didn't want commitment, he just wanted a little companionship.

Pete was sure of the vibes Mikey was sending off and he knew it was dangerous because this was Gerard's brother and he knew where Gerard was and a one night stand would be a two hour sit down where they talked about feelings and progressed into love in a few months and the question of “what are we” would stand and Pete couldn't risk that. He couldn't hurt Mikey like that. He didn't think they were going to fall in love, but he wanted to. He wanted to love him and he knew that already. He couldn't. He couldn't dare.

But Mikey was already hurting and he needed a little more drama in his life to feel a little more something while staying sane. So Pete let Mikey put his hand on his leg while he drove him home.

It was a pity fuck. Nothing more. But Pete pitied him more knowing that he was lonely enough and hollow enough to seek solace in another body.

Mikey let himself pull Pete up the stairs, letting the hot coffee coat his throat in a way that was too careless to be the normal Mikey Way. Usually he savored his drinks, spending hours with one coffee before moving onto the next like gum.

Pete followed, reluctant, finding a fuck at a funeral didn't seem to be the most moral thing. But he was the leader of a gang and one of his best friends was a murderer who got an apprentice in a boyfriend. So maybe the morals were out of the window. And maybe Mikey Way was too desperate to get drunk with the swig of hard liquor as he got in the door.

He kissed Pete, setting down the coffee that was already half empty with several minutes of drinking, he let himself taste his mouth, open and wet and beginning to pet with time spent together. 

He took off his tie, slow and straight to business. He settled into the niches of his collar bones, sipping his intoxicating beverage as he began to undress him further. 

The buttons, till his tattoos were open and his chest was uncovered. Mikey kissed him again after that. Pete could taste alcohol. They sat down in the middle of the floor, the rug sliding under them.

Pete let himself drink with him. He swallowed his guilt with vodka and chased it down with a few pills that he was sure were over the counter and that were used as a simple sleeping aid only weeks before when all Mikey had to worry about was a late paper. This was not the best thing and Pete knew he would feel sluggish within minutes. He dropped to the ground under him, his back unfurling on the ground.

He looked so beautiful and disastrous, Mikey, that is of course, tears streaming down his face as the liquor fell down his throat. Pete was sure that this was not because of the alcohol that was burning. But maybe Pete let himself swallow guilt with rum handed to him by Mikey who had finished nearly half the bottle of vodka himself.

He was going to fuck Mikey while they were both unstable and then he would leave. He would leave and he wouldn't have to see him again, right?

This whole thing was a mess, and Mikey was a mess and Pete was a mess and he had to call Frank tomorrow to talk to him about this because he probably needed to know. 

Mikey went to kiss him again, wet and salty tears, a distraction needed. His tongue was dry and scratchy against Pete. He let him kiss him, he let him kiss him for the sake of his sanity.

He slithered an arm around Mikey, holding him closer, pulling him closer. Mikey sobbed, letting his face rest against Pete's neck. It had been a while since Pete had held anyone who was crying, it had been a while since Mikey cried.

As it rolled into ten pm Pete was sure he wasn't going to fuck Mikey because Mikey could barely keep himself up and kept crying. Pete didn't want to fuck a crying guy, he didn't want to fuck Mikey at all. He felt too guilty to get it up. And it would pose a danger bigger than the two men themselves.

Pete let him lay himself in his lap, telling him through a veil of tears how much he missed his brother. It was the least that he could do when he was sort of kind of able to stop his pain with some not so simple explanations. Mikey would hate him if he told him. Mikey would hate him in an instant at the negative impact he had on this situation. The position he had on this thing was terrible. He was helping his brother's “kidnapper”, he was helping the man that killed his best friend. Mikey would never dream of talking to him if he knew. Pete wanted Mikey to talk to him.

“I'm gonna find him. I'm gonna save him. Pete, I'm gonna save my brother. I just, I can't get out of bed. And he needs me,” he sobbed. Pete looked down at him, eyes wide and dark with pity for the guy who was holding his arms in on himself, nothing else to hold. 

“I can't get out of bed. I miss him, and I worry that Frank's gonna kill him and I could save him, God, I can't save him,” he lamented. He turned around, not looking at Pete anymore, his back to the man with his legs wet with tears and falling asleep.

He saw his spine through his suit jacket, against the sharp contrast of his body in the fetal position. Mikey hadn't eaten an actual meal in days.

He couldn't. He was always nauseous. He was always sick to his stomach so if he even deserved to eat, he couldn't. Existing was becoming harder. 

He thought the first day alone was the hardest. But no, they got harder as the silence grew longer and missed calls were added up and days were pegged on. He couldn't move, not now.

He thought Pete would take that away for a while, make him dance, or at least stand. But no, he was here shit drunk and he wasn't even sure Pete was awake, or listening if he was.

Little did he know that Pete was watching, as much guilt for the situation as Mikey had, but at least his was deserved. Mikey didn't need this stress. It was a parasite.

Pete deserved it. To take all his pain and whither away.

But Mikey was crying and sobbing and wasting away while Pete watched, helpless and guilty and informed on the situation. He could tell him. He couldn't tell him.

Mikey's words were mumbled, half assed cries into he wind as his intoxication caught up to him and the weeping became too much. He buried his head into himself, going silent for long spells of time.

It was all sorts of disjointed and Pete took pity on the man, staring at his anxious and guilty face , contorted and twisted in all the emotions no one ever wanted to have. His words were slurred and drunk and he was rambling like a madman, Pete a little bit tipsy himself, so the words passed through his ears, the guilt of a thousand drunken Mikey's not even comparing to what he felt.

He knew this boy's pain now. He was toying with his feelings by being oblivious, even if it was for his own good. If he knew what Gerard was doing he would hate him, and Pete. So maybe they could pretend that they were friends for a little bit longer. They could play pretend. Because Pete needed it, and hell, Mikey needed it.

Pete ended up liking pretend, a drunken Mikey curling up beside him, Pete having carried the man to the couch, like he was a child. Half dragging, half goading him to at least help out a little, he finally got him there, Mikey falling asleep, like a rock, like a baby. 

He was sure acting like one. But Pete didn't blame him, he was needy and he was lost and he was broken and he needed someone to hold him and is baggage for the night and hold his hair back in the morning.

He looked so peaceful, sweating and wet with tears. His eyes fluttered open for one last time.

“It's been,” a yawn stopped Mikey for a moment, before his slurred words continued, “a while since I've talked to anyone new.” He rubbed his head against where Pete's ribs were. His hair made a soft scratching noise against the fabric of Pete's suit. They were still dressed from the funeral.

He rested his head on Pete's tear soaked chest. “Pete Wentz, I think I like you.” It was such an innocent sentence but it was a loaded gun of seven syllables. Mikey did not know the half of it. His lips molded together in a pout as he fell asleep, so peaceful, so simple and drowsy and cute.

If he did he would hate Pete, and as of right now, with this cute little innocent fool, he could not have that happen. 

And that was how Pete was ripped apart by a person he had known for three hours.

And that was how Pete ended up, curled up with a victim, on the couch of his serial killer friend's serial killer boyfriend's couch with said newly anointed serial killer's brother.

Life was fucked up. Life was even more fucked up when it involved the all allusive death. Life was fucked up when it involved a Pete Wentz developing a crush on a Mikey Way.

 


	6. The Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday Gee Way!   
> My charger broke so I may not get too much of a chapter up next week fingers crossed I do.

They let her body swing like a pendulum as they walked. Back, forth, back, forth. Gerard on her legs, Frank with her arms, bound together and held with one of his hands as he looked forward. She had been knocked out, coming to only moments later as they dragged her deeper into the woods.

She felt the swing of her own body and how it didn't feel like her own. She watched the sky sway. She watched as the stars swayed like her body. Back and forth. Back and forth.

They were peaceful, twinkling. They were happy.

Gerard wasn't sure where they were going, neither was Natalie but they both could tell that Frank was dead set on going further. He trudged on, deeper into the woods and the darkness, the trees partially covering her view of the night sky.

Frank's lover followed, Natalie staring at the ceiling covered with stars and wishing she was already dead. She was scared of the end, but she so desperately wanted it to be finished. She as tired. She wanted to sleep. She wanted to sleep forever.

Gerard looked around at the spooky nothingness of the black. The trees were crying out, calling and whispering and howling with the wind. It was cold today. It was spooky and quiet.

Gerard was afraid of the dark but he did not confess it because it felt so trivial to the things that they were doing. They were murderers for God sake, they slashed their hands to show their love and they effectively drank each other's blood. They were scary in themselves. But the dark was scarier.

The swing of her body was like a jump rope, the sound of the slick air, back and forth making Gerard antsier than he would have been without it.

This was a girl, limp in her existence. Limp and not even dead yet. She wishes she was dead.

Her eyes were groggy and every time they closed she wished it was for the last time. But she could not bring herself to sink. She could not bring herself to fall. Even though she so desperately wanted to. Why couldn't she just let herself sink?

“Hey, Frank, why are we walking so far?” Gerard asked, obvious discomfort in his voice. It was after he tripped over a root of a tree and the sound of scraping the soles of his shoe on bark was a laughing sound at his discomfort. His arms were starting to hurt with the girl's weight.

“This is how killing goes, babe. It's reckless, but if you don't want to get caught you have to be careful. So we walk as far as possible so no one will notice her if she screams or anything.”

Frank explained it to him like he was explaining something easy to a small child, like butterflies or something equally trivial. Like he wasn't discussing mortal tactics.

“Why don't we gag her?” Gerard asked. That was the obvious solution to their problem. Gerard's arms burned with her. He was getting annoyed at the clap of his feet on the leaves. The crunch of his weight on the ones who have already fallen. The body dropped a bit on his part and dragged against the cool ground for a moment before he hoisted up her legs again.

“We want to hear her scream,” Frank said simply, the sentence running Natalie's bones cold. Natalie could tell this sadistic fuck was smiling.

“Oh,” Gerard said. “Frank,” he asked after a few more seconds of silence, “Could I kill her? Just me? Could I do the final blow?” he asked. He was a little timid to ask, not knowing if 1) he could handle it or 2) Frank would want him to do anything just yet.

“Yes, baby! Of course you can, wouldn't have it any other way,” Frank said, trudging further into the dark. The sound of their footsteps went on for several more moments, the sound of their crunching footsteps and a swing of a body. Gerard squinted up at the night sky as they trudged on.

“Frank, if we walk any farther, I think we might get lost,” Gerard advised Frank. The trees were getting dense and thick and he wasn't sure that they were even on a path anymore.

The night was dark and it was cold and Gerard was anxious to kill. He wanted to see blood, he wanted to see the red. God, he just wanted to destroy something.

He would go nuts if he didn't wreck something soon. He was sitting on the edge of his figurative seat and he was going to explode in the near future if he didn't get to end a life soon enough.

He was anxious to finally get it done, lose his killing virginity. But he was scared, he was scared that he would like it too much and turn into a monster. He didn't want to be a monster. He just wanted to do monster things. He wanted to kill, but he didn't want the ghosts of his victims to burrow in his skin. He was scared of them, he would be scared of them.

“I think you're right, baby boy,” Frank said, deliberating their options. He stopped for a few moments, looking from side to side, holding the victim's hands behind his back. He looked back to Gerard for a moment, smiling at him.

“Yeah, I think we're good,” he said, scrunching his nose.

Meanwhile Natalie was deliberating her death and counting every breath that she took. She closed her eyes, she knew that the last thing she would be seeing would be stars. She knew that the last thing that she would feel was hurt, Her heart sped up as she felt her arms fall to the ground.

“Alright, baby, drop her,” Frank said to Gerard.

Natalie was more scared of Frank than she was of Gerard. Frank was smaller than Gerard, but he was much more serious. He was terrifying, he was serious. Her instincts knew that he was a killer, Gerard was still a lamb. They were both lambs to the slaughter.

Gerard was innocent and she hoped that he would be okay. Truth be told she was scared for her kidnapper, her murderer. Call it Stockholm Syndrome, she just called it empathy and intuition.

Frank was going to destroy this boy. He was going to suck the life out of him and she knew it. Gerard was still an innocent, even if he was a killer. He was a murderer, but he was a martyr.

His lover was going to kill him and he wasn't even the one killing her.

Natalie blinked one last time, the twinkle of the night potent and dark in the sky. She fell, being dropped light to the ground by Gerard, the bottom half of her body crunching leaves as they failed to accommodate her being. Frank was less gentle, letting her torso drop in a less graceful way.

They didn't notice she was awake yet. That was odd. She could run away. It would be a scatterbrained attempt. Seeing as she didn't know where she was, it was dark and there was one of her and two of them. Her brain swam with the fact that she was still waking up from being knocked out.

“What do we do now, Frankie?” Gerard asked. He looked to his lover for guidance, knowing he had much more expertise than him in the matter of murder. He was the one that had gotten him keen on the idea in the first place.

“Well, have you thought about how you want to kill her? We could strangle? That would work. But we might leave hand prints. I don't usually do strangling. It's not the best option. I have a pocket knife, if you want,” Frank offered. It was the knife that they used only a day before to slit their palms in undying love.

Gerard could still feel the sting on his palm and the tears on his cheeks. He could remember the feel of Frank's arms around him and dancing. God, he loved yesterday.

“I want to slit her throat,” Gerard said in the most excited of tones. He felt so many emotions running through his head at the time that he knew that he just needed to press a knife against someone's throat and hear them scream. He needed to hear her scream.

“Yeah, babe? Wanna watch her blood pool and pour?” Frank asked him. He was getting more excited with the impending carnage. His breath was husky with lust. Lust for Gerard and lust for blood.

Gerard smiled at Frank, curling lips and twisted intentions. God, this was going to be fun. This was going to be pure and dirty. This was going to be sharp. This was going to be fresh in his mind for years to come. This was going to be their own little form of entertainment.

Gerard could feel it in his bones that this would be bad, bad, bad. This was going to be the dark sort of good that he had been waiting for his whole life. This was what Frank had been waiting for ages to show him.

“Yes, Frankie,” Gerard said, breathless and homicidal. It was lustful and the most horrifying thing Natalie had ever heard. She was terrified of these men, of these monsters. Her heart beat thudded, loud in her ears and coursing blood through her body. It would be a struggle to keep her alive and her heart was training for just that.

“Wanna murder her? I know it's your first time and I want to make it special, but we have to get going. I want to make it fast to Portland, Pete should be back from the funeral soon,” Frank murmured to him. They were discussing this like any other problem. They were discussing this like they were deciding whether to go right or left when they reached a fork in the road.

“Don't, don't say it. Don't tell me about it,” Gerard whispered, pained.

He couldn't bear to hear the sound of his betrayal against his ears. It felt like his ears were bleeding with the word. 'Funeral'. There was no fun in it. Just hatred and regret.

Gerard had not gotten over his death, but he forgave Frank and that was enough for his lover to deal with. But it still hurt Frank to see Gerard hurt. No matter how much of that pain he had inflicted himself. The wounds were all identical when they were just scars.

“Sorry, darling,” Frank told him, squeezing his shoulder. Gerard walked a little closer, stumbling, craving his touch. But no, they had to get work done, this girl wouldn't stay asleep forever and Gerard kind of caught on that she wasn't asleep at all. But she was just frozen in fear and logic. She was a smart girl, she was a dead girl soon enough.

“S'okay,” Gerard muttered, staring at the body. Her legs were slender, small twigs of pale, almost bio luminescent skin. So pale that she shone. She was like a fairy, like a skeleton, pressed for air under her own skin. She was so small she looked like she was suffocating.

They were lucky to have her as their victim. She was such an honorable and easy first kill.

“Come on, you can do the honors,” Frank slipped Gerard the bronze little knife. The blade was neatly tucked inside the holder, the little death that Natalie was to soon come to face hiding inside. It was cold on Gerard's hot skin. It was like the outside air, the air that whipped at his hair and made strands. flail about around his face.

She was going to die soon, and she laid complacent. They didn't even know she was awake. She looked up to the sky again. The stars twinkled. _Don't be afraid. You shall come home soon._ They were like old friends, waiting for her, wishing for her. She wanted to descend the stairway to heaven and reach their loving arms.

She knew it was silly, she knew stars were made of gas and that they were just balls of such mediums, but she couldn't help but wish that they were real, and they were calling. It made everything less lonely.

She wished she would come home soon. She missed the stars dearly.

Gerard was still studying the knife as Natalie looked at the sky and Frank looked at him. His eyes were downcast and dark, he was not ashamed, not yet. But he knew he would be.

“Thanks,” Gerard said to him in a mumble. He took the knife, rubbing the apparatus between his fingers for a moment, studying the grooves of it. He couldn't kill her just yet.

“How many people have you killed with this?” Gerard asked. It was an innocent question, it wasn't belligerent. It was darkly curious, just looking for an answer. It was dark, rusted a bit and old. Old enough to have done ghastly deeds. He didn't look up from the knife when he said it, still studying the cool golden.

“Seventeen. My first was with this knife. Before I started sewing my insignia. I put it in with this knife,” he said. It was like a little fun fact that Gerard was supposed to find interesting. He did, he just couldn't convey it yet, he was desperately trying to find the courage to press this against Natalie's neck and cut her throat. Killing took someone brave, it took someone cowardly. Gerard was not sure if he was the former, but he knew he was the latter with how far he was away from home. Away from his grieving brother and his worried parents.

“Carrying on the tradition,” Gerard remarked. His eyes were still studying the designs. They were delicate. How could something so beautiful be anything so horrific?

“I suppose, now come on, before she wakes up,” Frank told Gerard.

Natalie's heart beat faster than she ever thought it could, like a gazelle, running through existence, not shuffling off the mortal coil, but rushing.

It was the rushing that made her even more afraid. Her body wanted to make up for the years of beating it wouldn't get to do. But it wasn't fast enough so as Frank and Gerard crept closer, her heart got faster with the distance lost.

She felt like an animal, caged and alone. Scared of being alone, scared of anyone near her. She was caught between breaths, her chest heaving like waves. But waves were eternal and a knife pressed against her throat was not.

Gerard knelt down to her face, looking into her eyes. He was not surprised that she was awake. She looked to him with fear. She needed mercy to save her life. She knew she would not get it. The knife was pressed against her throat, his thumb turning white with the pressure on it.

Frank was standing behind his darling boy, watching him with intensity. It would get him off to see Gerard do this. The blood lust of a boy, off his rails.

Frank couldn't see Gerard talk to Natalie, he thought it was just his ramblings, his insane ramblings. Well, not insane, but Frank sure as hell didn't believe in speaking to his victims unless it was to taunt them. Gerard was different. Gerard wanted to reassure.

Gerard wiped her hair back from her face, her neck, the tickle of the ghostlike strands caressing her flesh. “You will be missed. You will be remembered, you will be loved,” he promised her, giving her a squeeze of the hand and a smile. It was like he was talking to someone who was dying in a hospital bed than a forest floor and by his hand no less. 

She let tears stream down her eyes. This was the end. This was the end and she couldn't bring herself to hate the man who would do this to her. But she hated the man standing there. She hated the man who watched the two so eagerly.

She did not beg for her life, she had never faced mercy before and she did not expect to face it now.

“Come on, baby. You can do this,” Frank urged him on. He was teaching him how to kill, he was not giving criticism, Gerard didn't need it, he was a natural at this. He was just much too soft for Frank's life. He knew that he had to have him soft, though, he had to have him soft because Frank was the exact opposite. He needed the balance.

“Yes, Frank,” Gerard replied dutifully. He was taking breaths as deep as Natalie's, heart beat wild with excitement. She was just terrified.

They both stared at each other, Gerard alive, Natalie kicking in her death. His eyes were bright, they were the stars. They took a deep breath, close to each other's, chests heaving and hitching. Hers for the last time. This was a special time for the two, this was a sort of bonding that Gerard would never even get from Frank. This was a killer and a victim. A hopeless and a euthanization. Gerard was doing this girl a favor. He was showing her mercy. Or at least, that was what he told himself. And if he wavered in his resolve, it would be what Frank told him, too. Frank would tell that to him when he broke down in hotel rooms and when he was hyperventilating in the back of the car and when they had fights over it all. They were unstable in everything but the lies that they told each other to make them sleep better at night.

Her heart beat faster, the singing of the knife cold on her skin. Everything was cold, everything would be cold soon and she would o home. To the stars. She felt it, pressed against flesh, blood just starting to roll over the slit it was making on her pale flesh. It stung, like a bug biting into her skin.

“I'm sorry,” now Gerard was crying with Natalie, a sob ratifying his speak to her. She took a gasp as the blade sunk into her flesh, deeper, deeper, deeper. 

She felt herself fading. She felt the sky calling.  _Here we are, come toward us. Please,_ the stars cried out to her. 

She felt the beating of her blood and her heart in her ears. She felt the rain, was it raining? No, it was just her killer's tears. Were they real? Did he feel bad for her? Did he really? 

She saw the forest and the stars and his face, eyes swimming with tears. They were the most beautiful shade of honey-hazel. He was beautiful.

She fell in love with him, just a little bit, just superficially, as she died. She felt the white of the stars against her face. She was going home, she was going home, she was going home.

She recalled a bit of French in her death, the more poetic of the language.  _Je suis le etoiles._

_* * * * * *_

“Oh, God, baby, you are amazing,” Frank said. He connected the hands with the cuts on them, the cuts from their motel marriage.

Gerard smiled weakly as they walked back to their car. They had just cut their little serial killer insignias into her flesh. She was not alive, she did not matter anymore. Not to Gerard, not to Frank.

But she would be all over the news soon enough. They would be all over the news.

They reached the car, Frank reaching over with his warm smile, touching Gerard's bones to the very core. He felt more heat already with Frank's eyes on him.

This was why he loved him, the little things. But it was always the little things that seemed to hurt the most. 

So Gerard had to be careful. But God, he was so recklessly in love with him that his heart ached and bogged down with every look Frank gave him.

“Thanks Frankie,” he says fondly to his lover. 

“The way you slit her throat? Absolutely amazing. You're going to be a talented killer. Promise me we'll kill more,” he said, sliding into the car.

“I promise,” Gerard smiled, blushing at the compliments. He buckled up, the zipping sound of the apparatus and the clicking of the metal being the soundtrack to his act. He looked to Frank who was starting up the car.

They were acting like they didn't just murder a girl in cold blood. They were acting like the weapon wasn't happily jangling in Frank's pocket. They were acting like they were serial killers. 

The rush that Frank described was not there. Gerard did not worry about it, he had had it for a second, when he was killing the girl. When he saw the life drain out of her eyes, now it was just a slow sort of comfort. It was like a safety blanket, a safety net. He felt secure now. 

He took a deep breath as their nondescript car pulled away into the night. No one would know it was them. Well, they would. They would know b the symbols, Frank's J in a heart, Gerard's a G in a box. They had left it on her clavicle. 

She had looked so peaceful, sleeping. Her eyelids were closed and they were a pale lavender like the light of a summer sunrise. She looked like she was sleeping, if you didn't look too close.

Gerard had walked away with a lock of hair, cutting it with the red knife. He just wanted something to remember her by, she was one of his first friends on this adventure.

The blood stained the hair, the pale white hair becoming a pale red. It was just a small chunk. He would probably forget about it. 

Frank said it was sloppy, he disapproved of it. He knew that Gerard would forget it in his pocket and they would get caught. So he got rid of it as soon as he could.

Frank drove through the night, reaching another state in their night. Gerard was not sure what state they were in now. He was just sure they were all the more closer to their new home. A home Frank was growing more anxious to reach with his friend Pete added on as a growing figure to their future.

Gerard was scared that he would be replaced by this man. Frank thought very highly of Pete and Gerard knew that he did not think that of him. He was afraid and a little bit jealous of Pete Wentz.

But he didn't sweat it. Because Frank told him not to. But he couldn't help it even at the best of times.

It was light again before they stopped. Ten am had just reached the peak of being and it was bleeding out to late morning. No one else was really on the road except for people on road trips like them, anyone with a job was at work. Seven am and around five pm was when they got the commuters going home. Those were the times of the traffic jams.

Gerard knew that they were all normal, or at least most of them. Grey colored sensible four doors that tote around small children and dreams of a stable life in suburbia.

There were the beat up cars of college kids. The cars that had paint splatters and scratched surfaces. Those were the cars that were a little less normal, and more relatable to Gerard's days in art school. They were the ones that clawed at the ground they came up from and liked the cuts on their knees from crawling for survival. Gerard admired their courage. He didn't have any. He dropped out of art school, he ran away from home. 

He killed innocent people for fun. He murdered.

He did not feel remorse for it, he did not feel bad. He just knew that he had to be. So he did, in some twisted way. He felt bad for himself. 

He didn't feel bad for the person, the girl, for Natalie. He felt bad that he was the guilty one to hurt her. He felt twisted and gross and ugly.

He looked to Frank who was driving, he was gorgeous and pale in the light. Gerard was knocked away again by how much in love he was with him. He was always on his mind.

Frank didn't see him staring, he knew though. He knew the stars in Gerard's eyes from experience. It was so potent it thickened the air. It made him feel safe, pressed upon in all the right places, encircled. 

Gerard was safe. Gerard was home.

“Are you feeling alright, baby?” he asked, licking his chapped lips. It was cold in the car, it was cold outside. The days were just edging on shorter. But it was nearing the afternoon so it was still only a little bit cold.

He burrowed deeper into his jacket, turning on the heat. He didn't dare touch the radio, something bad might be being said about the two. 

“Yeah, I'm doing okay. Are you?” Gerard asked him. He looked to him. Frank afforded himself a glance.

His eyebrow was raised as he stared at him. He looked okay, he didn't look like he spent the night crying. Frank would have known with sitting right next to him for the whole night. He hadn't. 

He was glad that Gerard was finally getting used to this. He was glad he could share this with his lover.

Gerard put his hair behind his ear, licking his lips and staring at Gerard.

“Of course, lover. I've been doing this for quite some time now, so I would be okay,” Frank said, smiling at him.

Gerard smiled back at him, quiet. They didn't feel like killers. They felt normal. How trippy was that?

Gerard didn't know if any other's knew that they were killers. They didn't. Frank made sure of it. They just knew the guys on the TV. They knew the killer, the captor and the victim. They knew the story that Gerard and Frank had fed to Mikey before they left. 

They didn't know that Gerard was anything but an innocent and Frank would like to keep it that way. Gerard couldn't care less. They were never going to be caught. They were going to run away and live happy and free and safe and dangerous.

Frank was much more careful than Gerard. He was less reckless because he wanted to preserve his way of life more than Gerard. He knew what they were doing was wrong and he knew that they had to be careful or his baby would be taken away from him. He needed Gerard.

He needed Gerard to breath and he needed him near him to sleep. He needed Gerard to function and live. He couldn't be separated from him. He couldn't live without Gerard.

“I know, I just,” Gerard sighed for a moment, going to play with Frank's hair, “I worry. I guess,” he said. His fingers raked through Frank's hair, soft and gentle.

Frank smiled at him again, blowing a slight kiss his way, eyes filled with affection. 

He looked down at the gauges on the dashboard of their car. They were running out of gas. They were more than three-fourths empty. If they didn't stop to get gas soon they would stop forever, stranded on a highway by about two pm.

“Need gas?” Gerard asked at Frank's frown.

“Yeah,” Frank confirmed for his boyfriend, pulling into the closest gas station.

Gerard fondled the hair in his pocket for a moment, remembering it. Frank also did. He stepped out of the car to get the gas, commenting on it. “You have to get rid of that hair, babe,” he warned Gerard.

“Shut up,” he mumbled.

He burrowed deeper into himself, the door still open with Gerard's unsatisfactory response compelling Frank to speak further. He furrowed his brow at Gerard.

“Gee, baby, you're gonna forget it, then that's just more evidence on us, please, just give it to me,” Frank said. He stuck out his hand, expecting Gerard to give it to him like he was a child. 

That made Gerard angry, furrowing his own brow and sticking out his tongue. But he fished in his pocket and put the hair in Frank's hand anyway. 

The little strands fell, brittle with the blood of their victim. He couldn't bear to say her name anymore. He distanced himself from the girl, the victim.

Frank closed his hand on the hair, the clump falling into his palm in a neat storm. He looked at the shamed Gerard, the dirty Gerard.

Frank leaned in to kiss his lover, just a peck on the forehead, for reassurance. His hand was firm on the back of his neck, tilting his face up towards his.

“I love you,” he said, leaning his forehead against Gerard's. He has a small smile and he's clutching the hair, away from their bodies. Gerard nudges his own forehead against Frank's, not answering him or anything, just giving him a smile of resignation and pressing a chaste kiss against his lips as well.

Every time he kissed him was like fire, like static, like electric. This was soft. Like pressing flowers against your skin. Like staring at the sky and lying on the grass.

Frank was like summertime, like a June day that would never end.

Frank stuck the hair in a ditch, the hair washing away with the small stream of dirty water.

Gerard didn't mention it when he saw him do it. He just continued to fill the gas tank.

They went in for a coffee. Their clothes hadn't been stained with any blood, so they were safe to go in public. It was a highway side convenience store so they didn't attract more than a few weird looks from the conservative parents of two bratty boys looking at ice cream. 

They were your regular greaseballs. Gerard with his stringy hair and Frank with his tattoos were paid no mind.

They were quick to pay for the gas and some chips, staring at the television as the teenage just as greasy as them but all the more innocent rang them up.

“Young girl discovered in the forest off of highway this morning. Brutally murdered with her throat slashed. Her name is Natalie Straid, seventeen years old and had ran away from home that night,” the television proclaimed on channel nine.

The teenager didn't look up from his job. “Forty-six twenty,” the kid says in a bored tone, handing Frank back the chips as he fished out his cash.

Gerard hears the popping of gum over the continued sound of the woman. “...It is presumed that his hostage, Gerard Way, took part in this killing since a new symbol arrived. We are set to say that they are headed across the country towards the West. Iero's use of his hostage in the murder is being looked into, as well,” the woman said.

“Have a good day,” the cashier said as he handed them their receipt.

Gerard smiled at Frank. “That was us,” he whispered to him as they left. “Brutally murdered,” he quoted, “That was me!”

Frank smiled, kissing his lips before walking towards their car again. 

“Yeah, baby. How's it feel to be a killer?” he asked, swinging his arm over Gerard's shoulders.

“Exciting,” Gerard said, eyes widening for a moment, smiling at Frank, kissing his cheek.

“Hey, babe. Let's make our demands. It's fucking perfect,” Frank said, getting into the car again.

“Yeah?” Gerard asked, wrinkling his nose. He thought they dropped the idea.

“Yeah. I'll say, like, I'll say that I made you kill and I'll do it again if I don't get my money. Then , I'll put you on and you'll act all disturbed and shit and they'll give us, give me, anything we want,” he said. He used his hands a lot.

“How would we get the money to us?” Gerard asked.

Frank took a minute to fondle his lip with his tongue. “We'll tell em to send it through a bank account Pete has,” he said.

“Yeah? The one that he uses for his gang shit?” Gerard asked.

“Yeah! We'll have them give us like a few thousand dollars. We're gonna need money for when we live in Portland,” he said.

“Yeah! Like, around six thousand bucks?” Gerard asked. He was getting pretty excited about the possibility of this. He shrugged his shoulders, just a number that he let out that seemed good enough.

Frank laughed, not at him, not at anything funny, but at the excitement of figuring out how to yank everyone's legs further.

This was a game to the two. They were the cats, batting at the mice as they scrambled away from this. This was fun, this was fuck. And this was just another way for them to fuck with everyone's heads.

“Yeah, baby! God, we're gonna burn the world,” he said, jovial. He put his arm around Gerard again, bringing him closer with another whoop of joy. 

This was a game and Frank was having so much fun.

He kissed Gerard, wet and slick on his head, both smiling like fools as they drove out of that gas station.

“We're gonna burn the world,” Frank said. His smile was smug. No, it was certain. Gerard and him were going to conquer everything they set their hearts on, and he knew it.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so late tonight, last night I accidentally got 2000+ words deleted. But enjoy the smut.

Mikey hiccuped as he awoke, the sound of the pounding of his head making him groan.

He wondered, idly, if Pete had stayed and if the silence would get any louder if he didn't. Of course he was gone, of course. He had to be. Mikey had scared him away.

Mikey had made a total fool of himself yesterday, why wouldn't he be? God, they were just going to fuck, it was going to be a one time thing, Pete was cute. God, Mikey should have known he wasn't ready for this. He wasn't ready for anyone. But he was so lonely and Pete's arms around him were nice. At least while he was drunk. Pete was cute and he had fucked it up. He would still be cute when he went away forever. Mikey was so lonely. He was so lonely and if he could he would tell Pete that he was sorry.

He started to cry, wincing at the new beating of his head with the action. He shouldn't have gotten drunk. He shouldn't have even talked to Pete. He fucked it up. He fucked it up and now he was reaping his rewards with being lonely and hung over. He shouldn't have fucking drank anything.

Which was probably a worse idea for him now than it was yesterday. The consequences seemed more dire now with his hangover than with any cute boy gone away. Sure he was lonely, but he had gotten used to it. He couldn't get used to this splitting headache.

He rubbed his forehead, figuring that he was too lonely and too hopeful to refrain from calling out his new found coping mechanism. It gnawed at his stomach, the uncertainty of the population of his apartment.

“Pete?” he asked in a thick, scratchy voice, sleepy and strung out and just a little bit pained. It hurt to yell. He grimaced when he did. These past few days were just full of great ideas, weren't they? Try to sleep with a guy you pick up at a funeral, talk to your parents when you're clearly in the middle of having a fucking mental break, isolate yourself from everyone who cares about you. Yeah, he was a great fucking decision maker.

“Pete?” he said again, softly, like he already resigned to waking up to another quiet day at his isolated apartment. He wanted to cry, forget his worries in tears and sleep. He was almost ready to give up, curiosity leaving him up when he had just started to resign as a lonely fuck up.

He heard a thump, loud in his alcohol fought ears. He furrowed his eyebrows into a scowl. What the fuck? What the heck could that be?

If it was a robber than Mikey would let himself be robbed. He was not getting out of bed for some scummy punk trying to steal shit he didn't even care about.

“Mikey! I'm coming,” Pete said. His voice was more slurred, as in he had just woken up.

Mikey's hope choked up into his throat as he heard him. Was he going insane? No, Mikey saw his hands reach over the side of the door like he was struggling to get to him. He heard the stomps on the ground as Pete answered to him in a flurry of awkward movement, like he was a small puppy excited for food and playtime.

He stumbled into Mikey's room with his arms entangled in a blanket and body tripping over said blanket. He clung to the door looking at Mikey with a dutiful stare. His brown eyes were wide, almost to the point of madness. “Yes?” he asked him in a voice that made Mikey kind of regretful to have nothing to say to him.

“I, um, I just wanted to know if you were still here,” Mikey said, taken aback. Both men seemed much more wide awake now. Mikey's head didn't hurt with his hope.

“Yeah, yeah, why wouldn't I be?” Pete asked and there was the awkward silence where Mikey just replied by wrapping his arms around his legs. He felt small, like a little awkward teenager again and even though he wasn't far from being considered a teen, he still felt world's away from sitting in a basement and discussing all his fears with Gerard. But he felt just as vulnerable. Maybe even more.

“Oh, uh, well. I don't know,” Mikey said, bashful as Pete continued to stare at him. He felt even more bad as he saw the other man rub his knee, obviously bruised with falling down.

Pete snapped back from the silence easier than Mikey would have, raking his hair back from his eyes. “Um, do you need anything? Are you feeling okay?” he asked him. He licked his lips and took a deep breath, kicking the blanket that was wrapped around his ankles about some more.

Mikey just nodded for a while, thinking back to everything. Would Pete leave if he didn't need anything? Would Pete get annoyed at him if he did need anything? He refrained from answering his first question for a while, Pete just stared, dutifully. He never seemed to get waver in his patience as Mikey continued to rack his brain for something to get Pete to do.

Mikey looked back up after a moment, scared that the silence would make him go home. He had to give him something to do. “Could you, um, could you sit with me again?” he asked him. The tear of a thread from the hem of his blanket punctuated the sound with a thick snap. His fingers had gone blue with the weight of getting the yarn to break.

“Sure,” Pete said, he would be happy to do anything for Mikey Way. He was head over heels for that boy already with his crooked smile that he had only see shine through him fakely. God, he just wanted to make him happy. He wanted to see him happy.

He was so deep in this. This would not be good when he talked to Frank next. This would not be good when he got yelled at for being stupid. God, how could he be so stupid?! He asked Mikey out and it happened to end up with Mikey crying and drunk and Pete more in like with him with each hiccuping sob last night. Frank was gonna kick his ass and Gerard was going to ask his intentions if he didn't help Frank with the said ass kicking.

Mikey was less worried about his brother and his kidnapper even though they seemed to always reside in his mind. They were in his mind from morning to night, plaguing him with nightmares of his brother dying and being hurt or being made to do terrible things. He missed him, he wanted him home. But right now he just wanted Pete. He wanted the break that meant Pete Wentz.

Mikey smiled, grateful, letting out a sigh and dropping his death hold on his blanket. It was the first time Pete had seen something genuine from him, no matter how small. It was an easy smile, a relieved smile. Pete was glad that he could make him less lonely.

Pete went over, dropping his own blanket, shimying out of that and walking over to where Mikey was currently watching him. He sat on the edge of the bed, Mikey lurching forward to grab at his arms, setting the surprised man's arms around his waist.

He blushed while he was doing it, not looking Pete in the eye but just situating his body around himself. He laid down again, his head gingerly pressed to his pillow and Pete gingerly pressed against him. Pete liked this situation, Pete liked cuddling with a stranger. But a stranger he was not, he thought guiltily. He knew him, but Mikey did not know the half of Pete. He did not know one inch of information.

Pete knew much more than that. He knew that Mikey was hurting and he was sent to watch over him for a few days, just to make sure he was okay. He was never really supposed to talk to him past small talk. But no, he had to take him out for coffee. And go back to his place. He was glad he got drunk before they could fuck, or else he would have been screwed. Literally.

“I miss him,” Mikey said when they had lain there for a few minutes in silence. Not a bad silence. It was good, clean, warm. Like a relaxing summer's day. Mikey felt relaxed. He didn't feel lonely anymore, even though there was still a hole in his heart, there was a body touching him and engulfing him and he was okay with that. There was a person, filling that in for a moment. Just for a moment, and a moment was all he asked for. And a moment was all he needed.

“Gerard?” Pete asked, putting his chin on Mikey's bony shoulder. He looked down at the thinner man as best as he could, the one who was currently looking away with a melancholy frown on his face. He looked troubled, but of course he would be, if his brother was “kidnapped” as he was so led to believe.

“Yeah,” Mikey sniffled, his voice racking with he weight of his loneliness that seemed to creep up every time he thought of his brother. And even Pete couldn't sooth out the crinkles in the words as they continued to talk the silence coming in fractures.

“I'm so sorry,” he said, genuine and thick with sweetness. He was being nice to him. He was being nice to him because after a coffee, some vodka, and sleeping on his couch he already knew that he was going to fall in love with this man. He tentatively wiped at his face as best as he could without getting too weird.

He turned around to look at Pete better, their faces close and warm inside of the tangle of Mikey's despair. He felt Pete's heartbeat, a cacophony against his.

He absentmindedly stroked Pete's face, his fingers trailing on him like the mist of a morning. He felt soft, fingers calloused as Pete watched him. His face had a look of blank content on it, something that Pete knew was not true, but for the time being was. For the short span of forgetfulness Mikey Way was content to just sit there, engulfed in a virtual strangers arms.

Pete was just busy being engulfed in a guilt that would suck him down like quick sand. He felt terrible, lying to Mikey. Maybe he wasn't lying, just withholding information. There was a difference, right?

Pete felt terrible for doing this, taking advantage of him like this. But Mikey hadn't felt better in weeks. Even before this all happened and Gerard was taken away by Frank he was still searching for something. Someone, maybe.

He had found a temporary someone. And that was good enough for him to be content with for a while.

Pete smelled like warm chocolate. He smelled like safety to Mikey. He smelled like the very opposite of loneliness. Mikey was beginning to understand puppy love.

His infatuation had to fade soon, he was completely smitten as soon as they talked. But it definitely had to subside. Or else his heart would be crushed in months and he would be lonelier than ever. He had to be careful with the drugs and coping things he chose.

But it was so nice to like Pete. It was nice to confide in someone the most selfish of reasons and have it not backfire. There was feeling but it was volital feeling and that made everything more dangerous, and all the more distracting.

But this new little crush on Pete would not fix everything. Although this was the least lonely he had been in days, there was still an ache that dully clawed at his chest. He knew that this was just a ploy to make him forget. But he accepted it. He accepted this as the best he would get till he got Gerard back. He needed to get his brother back.

* * * * * *

Gerard woke with a quick jolt, bad dream making his shirt stick to his back. He wiped his forehead, the car much to hot even though it was probably freezing. He was still dazed from the horrible images that had happened behind his eyelids.

Frank snuck a glance at him, the road moving forward under them at around sixty miles an hour. They were going slower than Frank wanted, but this was a back road out of the state they were in. What state were they in? Gerard didn't know, and Gerard didn't care. They must have been somewhere in the midwest, Nebraska maybe?

“Bad dream, doll?” he asked, licking his lips.

As Gerard was waking up he experienced the feeling of the actual temperature. He was right, it was much to cold for him to be sweating. He burrowed in his jacket. Or was it Frank's? It couldn't have been his, it was much too large, on even Gerard. But it still smelt like him. Like his lover.

He looked at the cut on his hand before looking back up to Frank to give him an answer.

“Yeah,” he said, sighing. He had forgotten it already. But Frank didn't know that because he asked the next question.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No, no. Forgotten already, wouldn't have mattered anyway,” Gerard said to him, clunking his head against the window, wet and misty with condensation.

He missed Mikey, he missed home. They had spent the last few days- three days? four days? (Everything was a blur.)- as fugitives and he just wanted to go home, to his bed, to his brother. He wanted to talk to his mm and lie and say things were alright. But he didn't want it to be for the reasons now. He wanted it to be petty, he wanted to have so many midlife crises that he had an arsenal of fast red cars.

He wanted to be normal, he wanted to be pitiful. He didn't want Frank anymore. Sometimes, he didn't even want himself.

He looked to Frank, taking in the idea of fleeing back home. He could, he could do it. They thought him innocent, he could go home and lie and sleep and go back to work and forget this ever happened.

He couldn't. He could never forget Frank Iero and all his dastardly doings. He could never forget his soft smiles and soft caresses and killer sex and killer ways. Frank was beautiful, even if he didn't know it.

The heavy lids were like dusted seashells, the color of them that Gerard had found on the beach as a kid. They were soft and rounded, like Frank's. He had lost them, or maybe he broke them. He didn't want to do that to Frank. He wanted him, forever.

Gerard was silent, his own breathing in his ears, concentrated on. He contemplated walking away. But the very thought of it hurt him, nearly killed him. He could never leave Frank. Frank was his life source. Frank was his lover. He needed Frank.

Gerard took all of it in in one big, hitching breath, leaning against the arm rest and getting a better look at Frank. He was gorgeous, the setting sun. He was intergalactic. He was Gerard's.

He could never give him up.

Frank turned to look at him, that soft smile that made him melt being dished out to him like candy. His own eyes went softer with Frank's affection. God, he was so in love with him.

“We should stop again soon, dye our hair or something, get a shower in,” Gerard said. He hated feeling greasy even though he was just that very thing all the time. Being stuck in a car with Frank made him anxious to look good all the time.

“Alright, lover,” Frank said, taking a hand off the wheel to grab at Gerard's. Gerard readily took his own fingers and twisted them together.

Gerard stared at the ink on his knuckles and wondered what it was like to feel the press of pain. He could never do it, but he could kiss the letters on each finger. He looked at the whole hand more carefully, idly letting his fingers graze over the images. Frank heaved a sigh, twisting his hand up to touch at Gerard's chin, stroking gently.

He couldn't afford to give him as long a gaze as he wanted, but he could give one that proceeded to make Gerard's heart beat so loudly he couldn't hear the sound of the tires on the road. He blushed, hot and thick. Frank only knew of it from the way his eyes went to the floor and his cheek heated up. It was too dark, and too risky, to examine anything else.

“I love you so much,” Frank said with another heave of his chest. His eyes must have looked glazed over, sappy and heartfelt. Only Gerard had ever made him like this. Gerard was the best thing to have ever happened to Frank. And sure He didn't deserve him but God was he selfish enough to not care about that at all.

Gerard smiled, whispering it back through his joy. “I love you, too,” he said. It was as simple as that. Something as simple as them holding hands, and Frank touching his face.

God, why would Gerard ever think about leaving him? Frank was so easy to love. He was so easy to be with. Gerard would never find anyone else like him, he was so beautiful and he was so lovely.

Frank settled his hand back into Gerard's, letting his fingers be played with as they drove. He was letting Gerard alienate his fingers from each other, splaying them in ways that he did not want them to be. Or, well, maybe he didn't mind, with Gerard being so gentle and all. With him being so nice about it and all. He edged his own fingers across Frank's, the calluses of the younger man's and the softness of the older's being a stark contrast. They were always a stark contrast.

Gerard was innocent, Gerard was a baby. He was a child. He was something that Frank could never corrupt, he was innocent eternal. He was going to be like snow, forever.

Gerard looked at him through thick lashes with artist eyes, the green being turned to black with the lack of light. But they were light in themselves, so bright. They were a beacon of hope, staring at Frank like he was actually worth something.

Gerard made him feel like he was worth something. Gerard made him feel like he was art, like he wasn't an abomination. It was the beauty of Gerard that seeped into Frank and made him human enough to love again.

Before Gerard he was not human, he wasn't sure he would ever be. But the beating in his chest and the beating in Gerard's told him that he could be. If only he just loved Gerard.

Loving Gerard was easy, dealing with the guilt of it was not.

Gerard was kissing his fingers now, wet and graceful, like flower petals crushing against his skin. He loved him so much. Every nail was being paid attention to, the pink tint gone with the imprint of Gerard's lips, a kind and just blush of white added with the pressure. Gerard kissed his pink knuckles, the little canals where the skin wrinkled lightly there being graced with his touch. Gerard left no stone unturned when it came to Frank's hand. He was attentive with it, thoughtful.

“So, baby,” Frank said, clearing his throat before continuing, “are you still okay with, um, yesterday?” he asked. He tiptoed around the subject, his voice as shaky as his hand that was in Gerard's firm grasp.

Gerard stared at him with wide, wild eyes. He stared at him like a deer in the headlights, a child borne of innocence.

He was always worried about Gerard. He was worried that he would hate him and hate himself and that he would be sad or homesick. He wondered idly if he was good enough, he wondered if Gerard knew he wasn't.

“Of course, that was really fun, Frankie,” he said, snorting as he bent down to kiss at Frank's hands again, studying the tattoos on him.

Frank pulled his hand away, looking Gerard in the eye as much as he could on the highway. “No, baby, seriously. Nothing bad, nothing icky? Are you okay? Did I hurt you? Did this hurt you?” he asked. He was freaking out now, pulling at his hair with one hand.

What if he did hurt Gerard? What if he hurt his baby? What if Gerard was lying to stay with him? Who would want to stay with a monster, a murderer? No one. He hoped Gerard was okay, he hoped he was happy. He looked happy as he went to grab back Frank's appendage, the one that had been so rudely and abruptly ripped from him.

“Frankie! Don't talk like that, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. That was so much fun, I would do it again in a heartbeat,” Gerard said. He kissed his palm, grazing his mouth along his wrist, the crossroad of arm and hand. He stared at Frank, who stared back as much as he could, head turning quickly, freaquently.

“Stop the car,” Gerard said, eyes on Frank. They were dark, the light gone but not in a bad way. The happiness, the innocence was a candle, but this was a wild fire. This was burning, desire and lust as Gerard turned to look at him.

Frank watched, nearly helpless as he crawled to the side of the road, eagerly watching Gerard from where he sat in his seat.

Gerard's teeth gnawed at the cornflower blue of his veins, feeling him pulse in his mouth. He wanted heat and bodies and sweat and blood.

He wanted to feel Frank on him, handling him like he was the prettiest slut in all the land.

But Frank was newly dumbfounded, staring at Gerard like a lost child. His mouth hang open in the beautifully lazy way it did when he was turned on. Gerard witnessed his tongue shakily cover his teeth before it slipped back down to crawl its way inside his mouth.

“I want you,” Gerard said, taking the hand he was using to his cock, which was growing in size. “I want you, in me, all around me. I want you to engulf me, haunt me,” he said in a breathless tone, rocking back and forth on Frank's hand now.

Frank started to take better action with that.

He ushered Gerard into the back seat with dark eyes and a quick smile. He soon followed, the click of his belt being undone and the shuffle of feet adding to the beauty of backseat fucking.

He had heard stories of this as a teenager, in the back of your mom's borrowed car, with kids that you hardly knew and fumbling hands, and a desperate need to get off.

Frank looked at him, propped up against the door, holding onto the top of the seat for support as he rubbed himself, harder and harder, mouth wider and wider, small, breathless moans coming from his crooked mouth.

He inched forward on his knuckles, taking both of Gerard's hands and putting them on his own pants.

“Come on, kitten. Touch your daddy,” Frank said in a deep voice, Gerard now the helpless one. He watched with wide eyes and soft whimpers. Frank led him to the other side of the car.

Gerard carefully put his hands on Frank, staring up at him with hesitant reproachfulness. “L-like this?” he asked, cupping his soft hands around Frank's jeans.

“Good boy,” Frank said, laying back and watching his little boy hastily undo his jeans. Gerard was so hard now, a wet spot of precum growing.

“Wait, honey. Take off your pants,” Frank commanded, nodding to the older man's jeans. Gerard obeyed, hurriedly slipping out of them and getting back to work on Frank.

He took his cock out of his jeans, careful, like he was holding glass. Frank quivered, cock hard and begging for attention.

Gerard was quick to give it, hands moving tentatively up and down, giving shy smiles to a Frank who was too blissed out to see straight. He didn't know he wanted Gerard so badly till he did this to him.

Gerard was always sexy, but God, when he put on this act, so clueless, helpless and innocent, he was practically made for porn.

Frank moaned when Gerard moved his finger over his slit. His back arched and Gerard giggled.

“Come on, baby, don't tease,” Frank said, in a voice that almost sounded like he was begging.

Gerard just gave a new mischievous smile, moving his finger over the slit again.

* * * * * *

Gerard squealed with every spank given to him. “Five!” he yelled in a strung out voice. Frank was holding his head down, using one hand to do that and the other to spank his red and bruised bum.

“What did I say about teasing?” Frank asked, giving him another hit. This one was especially hard so he smoothed his hand over Gerard's bum.

“Six,” Gerard called out weakly, a sob wracking his body. His thumb went into his mouth. “You said,” he hiccuped, “not to tease.” He answered dutifully.

Frank was enjoying himself, seeing Gerard so strung out. “And what did you do?” Frank asked with another slap on his ass.

Gerard yelped. “Seven,” he cried. “I teased!” It was in anguish that he said it.

“And what do bad boys get when they don't obey their daddy's?” Frank asked. He slapped his ass again.

“Eight. Spankings, daddy,” he replied.

Frank had two more to go and he knew that Gerard was doing okay so he spanked him again with little break.

“Are you going to be good for Daddy?” Frank asked.

“Yes! Yes, Daddy. Nine,” Gerard said, writhing, sucking his thumb with more force.

“Baby gonna be good?” Frank said again, giving him a lighter spank. He rubbed his bum as Gerard answered.

“Yes, daddy. Ten,” Gerard sobbed. He curled in on Frank, putting his arms around him to hold him. He scootched onto his lap, slowly as to not hurt his bum any further.

“Shh, you okay, kitty?” Frank said, fixing his strong hands around Gerard.

Gerard laid his head on Frank's chest. His massaged his hair in before answering him. “Yes, Daddy.”

“I wasn't too hard?” Frank inquired, wiping back hair from Gerard's splotchy face.

“No, Daddy. You were just fine, I was a bad kitty,” he said, meekly. He put his face into Frank's chest, turning onto his side. His bottom was still hurting, aflame with his naughtiness.

“Oh, you still don't deserve to be treated badly,” Frank smiled at him, kissing his nose.

Gerard shimyed closer into him, rutting himself against Frank's naked body discretely. He was blushing, trying to conceal his gorgeous hard on, but Frank felt it. He felt him, dripping against his leg, hard and aching.

“Come on, baby. You need to get off? You horny?” he asked him, smiling when Gerard nodded his head eagerly.

“Yes, daddy, my little boy parts are leaking,” he whined lightly, taking his thumb and putting it in his mouth. He was so hard and Frank looking at him in such affection that it made him melt inside. He was melting and horny and _wanting._

“Aw, come on, babe. Daddy'll jack you off,” Frank said, looking towards his innocent lover. Gerard's eyes were wide as he was staring at him through his lashes. He took Frank's breath away.

Gerard scooted off of Frank's lap and onto his back, hissing when the seat met his ass.

Frank kissed his temple, pouting in sympathy at the pain of his lover. He took Gerard's cock in his hand, red with desire and squirming with need. Gerard stared up at him with waiting eyes. He wanted this, he was waiting for this. He had been waiting for this for hours. (Frank's blow job had lasted seventy-five minutes and his spankings have lasted for about forty-five minutes along with such chastising,) He was ready for this.

Frank's hands went around his cock, flushed with need. Gerard stared down at him and could come right then with the thought of Frank on him like that, staring at him like he loved him. He did love him, and that made this all the more better.

Frank loved him. He loved Frank. This was reality and this was happening. This would continue to happen. Forever and ever. They would be together, like this. It felt all the more real when Frank fitted his hand around him, slowly moving, smiling up at him.

His smile was the most stunning thing that Gerard had ever seen and he wanted to make him look like that as many times he could in his life. He wanted to make him happy, he wanted to make him feel as loved as he did.

Frank moved slowly, tired with his own orgasm, lazily jacking him off as Gerard lazily jerked his hips. They both smiled at each other, long and drawling. Gerard moaned, but they were sweet, long moans. It was quiet ecstasy in the car.

It was hot there, Frank moving faster as Gerard did. He was getting close. God, he was so close. Frank moved his fingers on his slit, moving around his precum on his cock till it was slightly wetter than before. Gerard was just waiting when he let out an agonized whine, begging Frank with his eyes to go faster. Faster. He needed to come soon. He was so close.

“Oh, God,” he whimpered, moving his hips up again, he was falling apart at the seams. He held onto the seat for stability. Pleasure coarsed, hard like agony on his body. His mouth hung open and he looked like a slut. A perfect slut for Frankie.

“So close,” Gerard muttered out, more to the ceiling than to Frank.

“Look at me,” the hand job provider commanded of his lover. “Look at me while you come,” Frank commanded again, moving his fingers to fit in Gerard's mouth and pull his face down forcefully to him.

Gerard locked eyes with Frank and he moved his fingers around him, touching the lips. Gerard wrapped his tongue around his fingers, gently sucking and nipping at him. He made little grunts of joy every time Frank moved his hand.

Frank could tell with Gerard's pleading and struggling to stay focused eyes that he was more close than ever.

“Cum, baby,” Frank said to him, commanded of him. It was a gentle command, but it was still a command. Gerard could tell, so he obeyed at once.

A few more strokes and a few more licks of his fingers and Gerard was sent over the edge by his lover.

“Frankie!” Gerard whispered in euphoria when he shot all over Frank's hand. Frank smiled, leaning down to kiss at his head like Gerard had done to him before. He sucked the little bit of come still left there with affection, looking up at his utterly ruined boyfriend with admiration.

Gerard laughed as that tickled more than turned him on and Frank's stares made him nervous and giggly. He loved it when Frank paid attention to him, he was just not good with attention. So he handled it in the only way possible, with blushing and bashfulness.

Frank went up to kiss him, cuddling his body as Gerard fell asleep, eyes drooping and head dropping. Gerard grabbed his hand again, the one not covered in Gerard's cum and hummed as he huddled closer to Frank's warmth. It was sleepy and warm in the car with each other close. Frank wouldn't have it any other way. It was lazy and heated, the windows dark with mist.

“I love you,” Gerard said to him in his hoarse sleepy voice. It was just a whisper, slight in his ear and deep in his soul. Frank couldn't believe he would ever do anything to harm Gerard. He loved him too much to have him anywhere but his arms.

Frank realized something and he realized something quick. “Gerard Way, I'm gonna marry you. I am going to legally marry your gorgeous ass if it's the last thing I do,” he swore. He didn't care if he got arrested for it or anything like that. He wanted him and he wanted to have him as husband.

Gerard leaned up to kiss his nose. “We are already, silly,” he said, referring to the day they were married with blood in that motel. But that was not enough for Frank, not in the way he needed it to be. That was symbolic, blood was better than paper. But he just needed that. He needed that very thing, he needed paper to say that they were forever enbound.

“No, like real married. With suits and flowers and your parents,” with that he choked up. That could never happen. Not to them. Maybe he could believe it, but he yanked Gerard away from his quilt of family with no hope to put him back in the main blanket. Tears filled in his eyes as he realized that he had taken away so many beautiful things from Gerard. He had taken away so many opportunities. Opportunities at being normal that he could never hope to get back.

“Shh, hey. I don't need that. I've got you,” Gerard said. He noticed the sadness in Frank and he tried to sooth him, grabbing the back of his head and boring his eyes into his. Their legs tangled, Gerard's moving in between Frank's. He pressed a chaste kiss to his lips.

“I know, I just-” he choked up again. He wiped at tears. “I want you to be happy,” he said, nuzzling his nose into his fatty cheeks. He wanted him to be happy for as long as possible, even if it wasn't as much as something else. Happy longer, happy lesser.

“I am, I am happy with you, like this,” he said. He kissed his cheek again. He wiggled, even closer to Frank. Frank was warm and his heart was beating. Gerard slipped his hand over his chest, feeling the beat against his hand, letting him know at a constant rate that his lover was alive. “I will always be happy with you,” Gerard declared.

Bump. Bump. Bump. Bump.

Frank wiped his knuckles against Gerard's face. His eyes met his lover's. He sighed at his hopeful face, a giggle meeting his exasperation. His lazy and suppressed smile of affection was enough to make Gerard sing. But for now it just went all to his blush and his giggle.

“I love you so much,” Gerard said when his giggling subsided. Frank crushed his face against Gerard's, kissing him wherever his lips met.

“You suck,” he just said, closing his eyes and tightening his grip on Gerard's naked waist. Gerard kissed him again and his lips quirked up, eyes not opening but heart definitely waiting with arms wide, waiting. God, he loved Gerard. He was so lucky to love Gerard. He was so lucky to be loved by Gerard.

Gerard was warm, his heart beating in time with Frank's. They would probably be cold in the morning, but Frank didn't mind. They might actually get a peeping tom if they were really unlucky. But he didn't want to get dressed. He didn't want to pry himself from Gerard's body. So he didn't.

He would let perverts see his ass. As long as he got to hold Gerard through the night. He loved holding him.

He sighed and leaned his head more on Gerard's rounded, naked shoulder. Yeah, he loved holding him.

He went to bed with the thought of that, Gerard's cum drying on one hand, his sore and red bottom cupped in Frank's other.

 


	8. The Emptiness and Frank Iero Conquer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so fucking ahead on this chapter but have no fucking clue what to call it.

“Pete, you have to leave,” Frank said as he walked into an empty flat with his hair newly dyed and Gerard following, him, worriedly. He scratched through the newly cut fauhawk of a thing, anxious and angry at Pete.

They had arrived to their new home only hours before with Pete Wentz not there to greet them. Frank had known where to go first to get the keys to the place, that was to be Pete's headquarters, i.e. his house.

When Frank entered the home, knowing since they had gotten to Portland that Pete was not there he immediately called him. There was no time to fuck Gerard on every surface that could hold their weight and no time to laugh giddily and breathlessly at the fact that they had successfully ran away from the biggest problem either man had ever faced. There wasn't even time to sleep. Frank needed to know what Pete was doing in the house of Mikey Way days after Frank and Gerard had asked him to check up on Mikey, well that was more Gerard, but Frank wanted him happy, so he wanted what he wanted.

But anyway, Pete Wentz was not where he should be. And that freaked Frank out. But it worried Gerard more.

Gerard was pacing in this cozy apartment, the living room not sufficient for his pacing but the kitchen just right for his needs. He was putting his hands p to his face, just ready to drop down to his knees and pray if the situation called for it.

“I know, Frank. I, just-I can't leave him now,” Pete said, he was torn, voice staticky and thick over the phone.

“Pete, you have to get back here. Don't you dare go tearing at his heart. You know what will happen,” Frank advised, grabbing at a Gerard who was freaking out more than his liking.

He ran his hands through Gerard's hair as he huddled more near to Frank. He was feeling the warmth of him, not focusing on the bad things.

It was second nature now, to comfort Gerard, like everything that had happened had made him an expert I just holding him still while going about his regular day.

He connected his fingers around Frank's back, feeling the warmth of his t-shirt. It was second nature for Gerard to be loved by Frank, to be taken care of by him. Even if it was only the smalls things that really portrayed that.

“I know, I know. But God, I can't help but feel he needs me,” Pete said. He was crackly on the other side of the phone, his voice in earnest and yearning. He was trying to prove to Frank that this wasn't just some game, that at what Pete was. But Frank knew all too well that what Pete was doing was dangerous on both of their parts.

Frank and Gerard could be found out. Then what would happen? Gerard would go home, he would go to prison and they would never be together again. And Gerard would be known as a murderer by his own brother.

Pete, it would be worse for Pete. He was tut. He was the one that would have to do all the explaining, and go that would have to do all the explaining, and go to jail himself, as well. He was harboring a fugitive, among other shit. Mikey would hate Pete, he already hated Frank.

He wasn't sure he fully understood the risks he was taking for just one one more night of staying with Mikey. He needed to get back there and talk to Frank. He needed to help them just a little bit more. Then this would all blow over and they could all go back to their new lives.

If Mikey even really had a life anymore, Gerard and Frank definitely would. They would be so much more happier in this state of being. They wouldn't have to run away any more and they could go on killing, living, loving, fucking.

But Pete could never, he almost think he loved Mikey now, he think he mgith only ever want to be happy with him. To be happy with any one else was impossible. Why, he would want to be disgruntled and with Mikey than happy with anyone else. Mikey was the absolute best thing he had ever seen.

He was the best person he had ever had the chance to meet.

Frank was hold the man he was thinking about so highly of, was holding a sleeping Mikey who had barely left his side for the last three days. He kept his voice quiet, knowing what would happen if he woke up. He couldn't wake up, but he couldn't leave him.

“Pete, come on. You have to get back here. Don't do something you know is going to turn out terribly,” Frank said. Gerard sighed against him, he knew how much this would cut Mikey up. Mikey went all or nothing and when he was sad, it was double the stakes. This would gut him. But it was for the best of all parties involved. Gerard just hoped his brother would survive the volatile nature of it all.

“Alright,” Pete sighed, staring at Mikey who was clutching his arms around his waist having fallen asleep staring at him. He needed Pete, just for a little longer. Like a child needed a toy or an annoying habit. Mikey needed Pete, just till he was strong enough to be alone again. He didn't know how he lived like this.

He must be so scared, so sad. He must have felt terrible, thinking Gerard was innocent and being hurt. He must feel like the worse brother ever. Pete sure would if he was in Mikey's position. There was another bullet hole of guilt to his skin. He had taken part in making Mikey so disenfranchised. He had taken part in starting the problem that made the solution necessary. He did not deserve Mikey and Mikey did not deserve this misfortune.

He cut Frank off without saying goodbye, he needed to say goodbye to Mikey. He needed to be alone with his forbidden fruit for a while.

He caressed his fingers on his face, regretting the fact that he would have to face him when he woke up and make him sad again.

Mikey had smiled at him, smiled with him, became easier as days went on and Pete talked to him, pried him open. He cared about him, he cared about him a lot. He sort of missed him already.

He had been a prominent figure in his life for the past few days and he couldn't imagine waking up without him. Or explaining that he had to go home. He knew that Mikey needed someone to be there for him, and he wanted to be that someone. He knew he could be that someone.

But the circumstances in which they really met where not ideal and they were not picturesque.

Pete fell in love with him so much harder knowing that he could never love him in full capacity. He was torn, he missed him already. He loved him already. Was he really that stupid? He was.

Mikey did not deserve this, he deserved roses and love and someone to spend the night with. He didn't deserve scum like Pete and the situation he was in.

His heart yanked at itself, wrestling in it's chains like a werewolf. He knew it should stay locked up. He wished he could love him like he deserved. He wished he could love him without any inhibitions. But no, he was chained to a friendship, a promise, and a lie. He would never have Mikey. And that made this night ache much more than it should have.

He did not know Mikey, he did not need Mikey. He was not in love with Mikey. But God, he was. He was head over heels. He was completely and innocently infatuated with this man. It could be more, it could never be more. It would never be more. Oh, God, he wanted more.

Mikey twitched his nose as he slept, snuggling closer to Pete with a soft yawn, deep and curling in his throat. He looked so peaceful now, the first night Pete had spent staring at him he had been so reckless with his slumber. He woke up, fitful and in sweat, scared like a small puppy, fidgety like a child in nightmare.

But now he was soft, his eyelids dropped, the pale, veiny, lavender sunsets were quiet. There were no storms on them. There was nothing but the happy and haphazardous shift of his eyes under his lids. What was he dreaming of? Was he dreaming of him? Was he dreaming of good things? Better things?

His jaw only ever flexed now as he slept, the occasional movement of body or mouth. Pete watched carefully, he watched till he himself fell asleep. But he couldn't.

He couldn't fall asleep. Not when he knew that this was the last time he would see him. Ever. He had to give himself this last thing, this last night. Then he would stop, he would go home. And he would miss him till the feeling of him wore holes in his skin. He had to make this night last as long as a forever, as long as a lifetime.

He didn't want to leave, he didn't want to let go. But he had to. He had to forget his touch. God, he hated this. All that he wanted to do was stay and make Mikey better and make him love him. He wanted to forget everything. But he couldn't. He had to go home.

He knew that this was for the best, that he had to go home. To save him. He would hate him if he found out, he would hate him if he went home. But at least if he went home, there was some preservation of the fantasy. Some preservation of the tranquil days shared among the two. If he found out, everything would shatter.

Everything would break apart and any semblance of happiness that was shared by the two would go.

The last few days had bee magical. Talking and sleeping and touching. But it was all very innocent. There was no kissing since Mikey was intoxicated that one night. There was a lot of crying, but Pete felt it was more like relieved crying, the fact that Mikey actually had someone to cry to was too much. He never really seemed like the one who cries for pity. He was just Mikey and he sucked it up and he took the hits he got.

That was what was so amazing about Mikey. Is that he just accepted things, accepted this. He accepted his empty life and his endangered brother. Maybe he accepted it too much, he seemed saddened by it, but indifferent to do anything. Like Gerard was just gone on a trip and there was nothing he could possibly do about it.

Maybe he just needed a little motivation. Maybe he needed a push.

Pete wanted to push him, he wanted to push him past his limits and watch him shoulder the burden of pain that was greater than this. He was not sadistic, no, he just wanted to see Mikey Way achieve.

He looked down at him again, hand curled against Mikey's chest. Pete scorned the Gods again because he was so unlucky. To have such an angel he couldn't touch.

He never did touch him, he wanted to. He wanted to feel his bony edges and sharp, alabaster skin. But he wanted to keep him safe. He didn't care if he never saw what he looked like under his clothes, he just wanted him to be happy. He just wanted him to be safe.

He sighed, staring down at him some more, peering at how the collarbones etched, standing out like mountains. He had been eating better, but he was oh so thin. Maybe that was just how he was made. But it still made Pete fret over him like a mother. He was too deep if he started doing that, but oh, it was too late. He was slipping and slipping into Mikey's grasp and he loved the warmth of his fingers.

Frank and Gerard were insane for dragging him into this, but he helped as much as possible, knowing Frank when he had just started out in his illegal ways. It was dealing drugs, selling them cheep in clubs. Till he killed. He killed often back then, when he started, he couldn't stop. It was an addiction and if Pete wasn't so powerful and such good friends with the guy, he would have been scared of him. It soon petered out to the twice a month thing he had now. A new victim, the same logo, the same guy. Pete knew the stories, he had seen them on television. This road trip, this fleeing, had almost made them bigger than Madonna. Pete had known him in the beginning, so they were tight.

This was why he was doing this. For a good friend, expecting nothing in return. But maybe it was also for street credit. If word got around that he had Frank Iero on his side, there would be a step off of people immediately.

A few months before Gerard, Frank killed and he was terrifying. One of the most deadly in the country, but he stayed to the small state of Jersey and was hardly considered violent. He was a threat, but there was no gruesome charm to anything. A new body on television, a new grief for some more people. But nothing more than just hatred for him. But that was what made it so chilling.

It was methodic. Ritual. It was conservative and cool. There was the logo and sometimes more blood than the other times. Depending on how he killed really. But no, it was all the same. He was a killing machine, a robot.

Now he was a legend.

When Pete still lived in Jersey, selling coke and playing bass, he had witnessed Frank grow. From nothing, to a killer, to the machine that was so feared by so many people. He killed to fuel an addiction, to sedate destruction in the only form that he knew to work. He killed to cope. But, now, Pete knew that there was carnage in his blood and Gerard had ignited it.

Gerard had been the flame on the match. Gerard was going to be the breaking point of Frank. But Pete didn't care, they were in love. And when you got two people so in unison and so fucking insane, you got those two. And those two were a dangerous and volatile mixture.

Pete heaved a sigh, staring at Mikey who was so closely related to the explosive substance of Gerard Way. They looked similar, you could tell. The jaws were close and the lips. But they were so different. Worlds away from each other.

Gerard was pretty, in a sense that he caught your eye and made you think about him for a bit. He was the 'I love you' pretty. You know, the pretty where you had to really love the person to know that they're pretty. But Mikey was stardust. There was a difference. Gerard was just Gerard and he was important to Frank, but he was just a someone to Pete. Mikey was becoming everything. Mikey was slowly consuming and blotting out everything else that Pete had in his immediate mind.

His hair was soft when Pete ran it away from his sleeping face. He looked so peaceful, so tired. So beautiful. The bags under his eyes were peaceful, they weren't stormy, they weren't a tempest. It was just soft, it was just easy.

Pete sighed, he wouldn't be able to face him when he woke up. He wouldn't be able to hurt him like this. He was sighing a lot in this night, but truth be told sometimes he forgot to breath when looking at Mikey.

He was getting antsy, he had to move or his leg would fall asleep and he would fall asleep. So even if it meant being away from Mikey for a few moments, it would mean more precious morsels of time staring at his face. His sweet, sweet sleeping face. He had to be careful not to wake him up.

He slowly moved Mikey's head from his body, scratching against the walls of his sleep partner's awake and napping room, trying not to open the door with too loud of a creak, slipping out.

He looked back, the sunlight boy having not awoken yet, his head lazily lolling against the pillow. Pete scratched at his bare stomach, he didn't have a shirt on, his habit of close quarters with Mikey Way had made him chronically overheated and as little clothing as possible was well received by him and his body alike.

He stretched, bones aching from being in one position so long, his leg stuck out. Stretching after being in one position for a long time was fucking orgasmic. But he didn't mind that much, not when Mikey stirred, almost waking up.

Pete looked behind him, Mikey just shifting, taking blankets into his arms to substitute for Pete. God, he hoped he wouldn't wake up to see him leaving, that would be awkward to explain to a frantic Mikey, he didn't really like it when Pete left, so he never did. In the past few days the only things he had done alone was go to the bathroom for showering and such. Everything else he either did it for, because, or with Mikey.

He wouldn't have it any other way.

He closed the door behind him, taking one last look at Mikey. He wasn't leaving, no reader, I can assure you that, he was just going to stand on the fire escape and think a little too loudly for him to be advised to stay near the sleeping man.

So he slunk out, stealing a cigarette as he went, slap and stick of cold soles against hardwood being the only sound. It was the suction sound, he was terrified of waking Mikey so he was extra careful, even though the door was closed and Mikey could not possibly hear the small whispers of his footsteps.

Pete slipped outside into the cool air, shivering as he felt the mean wind hit his bare chest. He could bare it, the sting made him think. And think was exactly what he didn't want to do, had to do. The warmth he had so felt in the bony arms of Mikey Way gone and in its absence the chill crept into his bones.

The scratch of the lighter and the orange raindrop of fire was enough to give pseudo warmth to him for a moment as he lit up his cigarette. Pete sat, watching the skyline and studying the darkness with his eyes, the dots of light on the horizon being beacons of hope for anyone but Pete. His heart was being broken by a instantaneous and copious amount of bad luck.

If only they met in some other way, any other way. At least they might have worked out. Something could have worked out for them. At least something longer than three days to infinity of pining.

He wished for something more. He took a drag, staring up at the stars, twinkling, laughing at him. He hated them. He hated the stars. He hated himself. He hated the situation he was in, not being able to have Mikey past this little infinity.

The sound of a car passing with a squelch was the only thing he registered in the next few minutes. It was all still in this more quiet part of town. With the blowing out of billowing smoke into the air he heard a voice, startling him.

“Hey.”

It was only Mikey but the shock of his voice there on Pete's ears was enough to make him jump.

“Hey,” he said turning around, “you scared me.”

Mikey seemed to ignore him, walking forward to stand next to him, arms hanging off of the iron of the escape. He snatched the cigarette from Pete's hands, gracing his lips with it for a second before giving it back.

Churning eddies of smoke went out of his nose and his mouth like he was a dragon as he answered Pete, a little delayed and totally unrelated. “Why are you out here? You'll catch a cold,” Pete was informed by Mikey, who rubbed at his own arms, crinkling his nose in disgust at the frigid air.

The cold of the fire escape finally came to Pete and he moved away from it.

“I have to leave tomorrow, or today, depending on the time,” he said. If it was after midnight, today, technically. If it was before, tomorrow. Just, the day whenever the sun seemed to rise next. He needed to get home, it would have happened eventually.

He said it, bluntly and blankly, not having come to terms with it much himself, not letting the blow be soft on Mikey.

“Oh,” he said, dejectedly. “Where do you live?” he asked. Like there was any hope in that.

“Portland,” he answered, taking another drag of the cigarette that he had in his hand.

“Oh,” Mikey said again.

Pete stamped out the cigarette, more like let it fall through the grates. He walked into Mikey's apartment again, met with the cool blue darkness of everything.

Mikey followed. “I'll miss you,” he said.

“Yeah? Me too,” Pete replied, putting the lighter on the table closest to him. He knew he would leave a piece of himself with Mikey Way. How big was what had to be determined.

Mikey turned Pete around, grabbing with his bony hands at the shoulders of this man, making him look at him. Pete let him hold him, hands at his shoulders, nails digging tiny crescent moons into his skin. He was trying not to cry. He was so desperately trying not to cry. He bit his lip, just a tiny bit of blood coming off with pressure on it. He looked like an abandoned puppy, like a lost child.

His hands moved from shoulders to Pete's face. Despite the closeness of the two on each other, joined at the hip from day one of Pete arriving at his apartment, this was the closest they had ever been. Everything was electric and built up to this. This was the first time they would really kiss, uninhibited by alcohol or sadness, just yearning, just want in between the two, trying to bridge a divide that was already unfixable.

Pete felt the desperation on Mikey's tongue and the astronomical need for him as their lips smashed together in cacophonous unity.

Mikey was the tide against his sand, slapping skin and melting fingertips. He felt him, everywhere. It drove him mad. But a little itching villain in the back of his mind told him it was not enough. It was never enough. No matter how much closer Mikey pulled him, so taught against each other that it hurt, it would never be enough. Pete could never be enough.

He didn't focus on that. He focused on Mikey and the effect that gravity in the form of Mikey Way had on him.

He was pulling him down to the couch, taking him like he was the only thing keeping him alive and he had to hold onto him. He couldn't let go, they were stranded, in the sea of need and lust, only breaking for air when their heads started to swim more than they were.

“I miss you,” Mikey gasped, pulling apart to stare at him, before going in for another kiss. “I miss you already.”

Pete let his eyes shut more violently, feeling the breaths of his tide against his skin like an engine running.

He huddled Mikey closer to him, arm firmly encircling his waist as he pulled him, deeper into his soul, closer into his skin.

Pete gripped at his waist, so hard it hurt, fingers digging, kneading his skin like a cat. God, did he need this.

The darkness seemed so much more brighter around them. The sound of panting and heavy breath made everything so much more stuffier. He felt almost suffocated, a gentle smothering. A euthanasia.

“Pete,” he sighed out in a sort of breathy whine, sat on a couch and still having been swept off his feet. Pete looked at him through heavy lids, he was stronger, engulfing Mikey, but he seemed o much more smaller in their sexual setting.

He melted into Mikey, his muscles and sinews giving way to Mikey's bones and sharp edges.

His skin was tight like a snare drum, the sound of the beating on his flesh was his heartbeat. He wrote a song with his eyes dark on his impulsive distraction. Pete was gorgeous and wary in all their touchings, skin hot on each other as the night got confused and raised goosebumps. Their bare arms became homes for mountain ranges.

“I'm going to miss you,” Mikey panted, tongue slipping out of his mouth, searching for the only thing important in the night air.

“I've missed you for my whole life,” Pete told him in his airy voice, friction in his jeans against Mikey pitiful and rutting but oh so beautiful. He grunted out the words like he didn't mean them, like they were something silly, just a competition while they fucked.

But Pete had been serious. He seemed to be destined to have all this happen to him. His waves were crashing against his body in the light that the moon gave off. It lighted Mikey up making him look even more like a celestial being.

Mikey had been there, waiting for him. And he had been waiting for Mikey. It was about times that they collided. It was about time that they fell apart to stitch each other up and fall in love.

Pete had waited his whole life. This was his fate, his destiny. And he wasn't going to let it slip through his fingers.

He bent down to kiss Mikey's bare chest, the smell of something foreign permeating on his skin and sending daggers of something soothing through Pete. It was something new, something not him and he longed to domesticate it. He yearned to explore Mikey for all he was. He wanted to know him, inside and out, like the back of his hand, better than himself. He wanted to know everything about him.

His chest hurt. God, he would never know him and that took a little piece of his heart like a chipped tooth. It ached, like something so sugary sweet had sat upon it.

He longed to hold Mikey near and mold himself into him. He wanted to be around so long that he got used to him. He could never get used to shrapnel under his finger nails.

He humped at Mikey more, anything, Oh, God, anything being the only thing that he could wish for. He hoped for him. He wanted him, inside of him, touching him, being him.

He wanted Mikey to mix with him, the sacred act of serenity being the only thing keeping Pete from trying to rub himself more. No, this could be the last night, he needed Mikey as close as possible. He needed Mikey, and he didn't even know how much. He just knew that there was a gnawing for him to get closer to him, be closer, feel closer.

He couldn't get close enough to stop the collision of bad luck. There was nothing stopping them from smashing into something most didn't even want to encounter.

Mikey's body straddled his, long legs becoming machines of pleasure as the dark pressed around them, turning everything muted.

He held on to Pete, gingerly spreading his legs, bulge hurting his tight pants. This didn't feel dirty, it felt necessary. It felt...clean.

He looked at him, Pete's face in anguish and pleasure, only a preview of what was to come. He was eager now, to get inside him, because this was the first time, last time, only time. He wanted Pete, all of the time.

He stroked his face for a moment, looking at him before doing anything else, the desperation of recovering a lost cause was taking a toll on his body and lust could not catch up, not yet.

He let his hand feel the stubble starting to peek out on Pete's face, the softness of a cheek he would only touch again this once. He missed him already. God, he wanted him.

He was gorgeous, and strong and every other good characteristic people had that Pete had more of. He was amazing.

Mikey started to cry, because Pete had to go home and he would be so alone again and he was scared to be alone and he was scared to be lonelier than before. He fucked him while he was crying and Pete didn't try to stop it, because he knew he couldn't.

“I miss you,” he said, taking one of Pete's hands and rubbing it against his own cheek. Pete dragged him downward to him, kissing away tears and at eyelids and hands and saying how he would never leave him, saying how he was always right here, always gonna visit him. He petted his hair down, sweaty palms and soft safety.

Most of it felt like empty words but that was all Mikey needed right now. All he needed was another bit of soulless remembrance. He needed Pete, but he could have him.

He needed something fake, synthetic. Just the fact that it was coming from Pete made it worse because he could see the real stuff, but he could not have it.

He was scared that Pete would forget him. He would forget about Mikey Way and naps together and stupid fucking condolences and funeral hookups. Mikey was scared he would forget, but he was more scared that he wouldn't.

He wanted Pete so badly, he wanted him, every day, every night. He wanted him to just be there, the thought of them there, next to him was enough. He wanted to have the opportunity to fall in love with him.

He wanted to just hold his hand and lay in bed with him and touch him and caress him and be like lovers. Who cares if they just met? Mikey needed someone to hold him when his blankets weren't enough and his fears got too rough.

He just needed someone and he feared that that would be the death of him.

He was weak. He was much weaker than Gerard. He was obviously weaker than Pete. And he was mile away from Frank, who seemed to have too many addictions to be strong.

He was the flimsiest, diamond encrusted fake.

* * * * * *

Mikey woke up alone, naked on a couch, covered in a blanket and a note. He huddled the blanket around him, looked for Pete in the surrounding area, then read the note. The note answered the question of if Pete was there or not.

He wasn't.

All it said was “Sorry,” in a scrawling hand that could only be Pete's. It was done on the back of a napkin from the place they went for coffee.

Mikey wanted to cry. He wanted to scream and kick and he wanted to die. But he couldn't. Because his phone was going off.

It said it was from an unknown caller, and he hadn't gotten many calls these days, so he was fairly confused. But he answered anyway to curb his curiosity.

“Hello?” he asked the person on the other end.

“Mikey Way,” he heard the business like voice of someone who might've been familiar if his memory was sharper.

“Yes, that's me. Who is this?” he asked, hunger telling him to rip his blanket off and get some food in his stomach before he died.

“Armani. Ray's old partner?” she said to him.

Recognition flooded through his stomach. “Oh, yeah! Yeah, what's up?” he asked her, yawning.

“Well, we've gotten word from Frank,” she said.

Horror was what replaced the lax feeling in his stomach, it filled up so quickly with bad thoughts about what Frank had done to Gerard, that Frank would do to Gerard.

“Oh, God,” he said to her, “What? What did he say?” he pressed her for details, any details. Maybe Gerard wasn't even alive. But if he was, in what condition, at what cost? What would happen to his brother who he had so neglected?

“He said that he wants some money, something to convince him to keep Gerard alive,” she said, crackly through the other line of the phone. But it was so clear to Mikey. At least as clear in the seonse that Gerard was probably going to die soon. He was not a rich man, three hundred dollars was a lot of money for him most of the time.

“How much does he want?” Mikey said in a wary tone. He bit his lip, he didn't have that much money. Had his parents been contacted for it? He couldn't do it on his own.

“He wants five thousand,” she said. It was some of the worse news Mikey had ever gotten.

His heart shattered. He didn't even have that much in his savings account. “Do we have a deadline?” he asked, now gnawing on his pink and abused lip.

“Not that I know of, I've told him to call me back if he has anymore demands. He had called just this morning, by the way,” she said to him. God, so while he was sleeping, his brother's mortality was already being debated.

He sighed in exasperation, banging his head against the arm of the couch, soft and cushiony. “Thanks,” he said to her, tired. He hung up, being met with silence again. That damned silence that seemed so much more smaller when Pete was here.

A silence that had not permeated the air for some time, not since Pete Wentz had come. But now, it was back, creeping in like a virus. Everyone was acting like he was a virus. They were leaving him.

Gerard had left and then the landslide followed. Everyone he had ever met was giving him a big middle finger and casually leaving his life. He missed them, he missed life before this, so simple and mundane and stable. He missed being okay, he missed being alright and talking to other close friends who were also alright. He missed the way of life before his landslide.

He sighed, putting his hands in his head. He didn't have this kind of money laying around, neither did his parents. What was the psycho going to do to Gerard?

He thought of all the bad things, of all the disgusting, perverted things. He would probably hurt Gerard, hurt him in ways that a person should never be hurt. He would abuse him, torture him.

He couldn't even go into specifics, it hurt him too much to do so. Just the thought of Gerard, dirty and dingy and wounded made him sick to his stomach.

And to think, he had wasted nearly a week on being sad, on being starstruck and in a whirlwind nothingness with Pete. What kind of brother was he?

He knew that Gerard was hurt, that he was possibly dying. He knew that he was in trouble but he would not dare to help is brother who had so respected, loved and protected him.

He had been so stupid, so useless. If he couldn't save him from Frank the first time, he would have to try again. He would have to get him back and never let him leave again.

 


	9. Sadness and Sanguine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is really dry and hopefully just a filler

 

“Come here,” Frank mumbled to Gerard, taking a drag of his cigarette and watching the smoke swirl around them. Frank watched him, smirking through the smoke and watching Frank with a keen yet loving eye. Gerard smiled at him, almost like he knew something he didn't. Almost like Gerard was an enigma. He was. Frank couldn't understand him even if he slit his stomach and studied his guts one by one, inch by inch.

They had just finished having a sort of celebratory sex, Frank feeling every piece of Gerard's skin, meeting in the middle where the dip in Gerard's back started, an inverted mountain of bliss and a thousand, back bending nerves. Frank traced beautiful words on Gerard's flesh with his callous fingers, staring at his wide mouth, hot breath gracing his skin, forming his own crude communication to Frank to go harder, faster, telling him it was oh so good. This time was just as intense as the other times, if not more. It was softer, somehow. It was loving. Loving that didn't have to be triggered by a breakdown. It was love that was pure and un generated, undiluted. It was love that was not a byproduct of belligerence. It was something Frank wanted all over, all the time, till the day he died. He wanted Gerard, slick and worn out and professing his love for him in his arms for eons. He wanted his lover to meld within him.

It was the first time they had fucked ever in this new place and it had an air of closeness that was unique. All of the times they had sex was unique in it's own way. It was special, for certain reasons.

The sun was dipping down and the curtains gave what was let of the natural light a blue tint to the room. Gerard's skin was more luminescent in the light that he was given, hair shaking like fireworks. He was gorgeous. He was celestial.

There was the waxing on his skin, like a plastic casing. It was the aftermath of sex. He looked happy, worn out, even more sexy when he mixed the two together with that hair.

God, that hair, pushed back and limp, not yet reaching his shoulders. It was red, like danger, the only one that Gerard had wanted at the convenience store. Frank went for something else as flamboyant as Gerard's, he must admit.

He yawned, laying a sleepy head on the soft downy feather pillow. A pillow that came with a bed, that came with a house that was a favor from Pete.

Frank looked around to their new home, the one Pete had so graciously bequeathed them at no charged. It was cozy there, they both agreed they liked it the moment they examined the place the night before.

The rooms were spacious and furnished nicely. They were so lucky that this was better than both of the places they had lived in before. It made it even better that they were together now.

There was no going back home and going to work and there was no separation. It was just them, all the time. And Frank could hold Gerard in his arms when he woke up, and he could hold him when they went to bed. And he could hold him, bloodied and ecstatic after getting home from killing.

 

 

Frank had wanted him, they hadn't had sex in days, not counting the most recent time that was only minutes before. He wanted to consume him last night but they were both so tired and shocked to have made it through this road trip together in one piece that they just passed out after looking through the apartment.

They went to bed last night happy and together and had spent time in bed throughout the whole day. Then they got up, made some dinner and had sex. It was simple, beautiful, lovely. It was something that Frank never knew that he wanted so much till he had it in his hands.

This was the perfect relationship, they killed together and they laughed together and they had the same pain, same guilt. But everything seemed to wash away when they were together. He loved him so much, he could barely wrap his head around it.

Frank had happiness running through his veins. He was so happy he hadn't killed Gerard. He wouldn't dream of it now. He would never do that to him, even though, even in his happiest times, his body got so confused with his feelings, he wanted to rip him apart.

But he would not dwell on that now. He was happy, he was feeling good. For once in his life, killing wasn't just the escape he had. Gerard was. Gerard was a safe place to put his toxic waste.

Gerard was getting on boxers and a shirt, lazily playing with his newly cut and dyed hair, messy and faded on the roots. He liked the new cut, it made him feel sexy, made him feel on fire. Frank had to agree that it made him look much more sexy.

Frank was lying in their new bed naked, sheets bunched around him, scrawny chest even smaller in the large bed. He didn't want to get dressed. He never wanted to get dressed after sex. He was too hazy, wanted a cigarette too much. Being naked added to the feeling of euphoria that permeated through him when he was like this, he liked the high that came with the sinful act. He wanted to keep it for a longer time.

He would worry about that later, when Gerard wasn't dripping in sexwith a big smile on his face and nothing but a t-shirt and boxers on. He looked so sexy. God, he was always sexy, but this lighting just made him an enigma.

Maybe, to repay Pete he could take up a job with his gang. He could be like his hit man or something, he did a few jobs for him before. That was an option that he wasn't totally bummed out to consider. He would like that a lot, actually.

He had to talk to Pete soon. He felt kind of bad he did that to him. He felt bad that he made a grown ass man leave a place that he didn't have to. And on top of all this other stuff they were doing for the two men, he was risking his own happiness. He owed him an apology and his services.

But he wouldn't worry about that now, like he said, not when Gerard was looking so sexy.

Gerard hummed, falling into bed, crawling up to Frank. It was in the post sex euphoria they always seemed to have but there was a new excitement around this.

Everything was happening, coming up for them. Everything was going amazingly. And it would continue to go amazingly, because even though Frank's life fell apart after Gerard it seemed to all come together so perfectly.

Gerard was the only person that Frank would kill for, die for, and live for. He was the only person who could make him feel this way, and Frank thought he knew that.

“I love you,” he giggled, kissing Frank's nose, face dripping with smiles. It had been the day after in their new home and there was the air of safety that permeated amongst the boys.

Frank cracked a smile, hands working their way into Gerard's hair as they held his face. He looked beautiful, alabaster and red, like the sunset. Like a car crash.

Frank pet his cheek, staring at him with love and adoration that rivaled the moon's love for the Earth. He pulled him down, not saying anything, but just snuggled Gerard's head against his chest.

“We're okay,” he said in revelation with a sigh. “We're okay.”

“Of course we are. We can do anything,” Gerard said in such a sure tone that Frank began to forget his doubts of them being caught in a second.

 

He looked up at Frank with wide eyes, arms around his lover's body, making sure that he was safe and sound and there for him.

“Yeah, yeah we can,” Frank agreed, laying back and looking at the ceiling.

It was a nice place, cozy, warm, big. It had exposed brick on the bottom floor and the top floor had exposed wooden planks. Pete even havened in style. Frank was glad he was here instead of his shithole apartment back in Jersey. He was here with someone he loved, he was here with someone he needed. He was here with Gerard. Gerard was the one thing that he had ever wanted. He was so happy to have the luck to have him as his lover.

He looked down to him again, taking a puff of his cigarette and smiling. Gerard was staring up at him in adoration, hazel eyes, usually wide were now hooded with sleep and sex.

“What?” Gerard asked meekly, head resting on Frank's stomach. Frank stared down at him, massaging Gerard's back through his shirt.

His hair scratched its way on Frank's stomach as Frank played with it, hands glued on Gerard's pale and soft body. He wanted to touch Gerard all over, forever.

“Nothing, baby. I'm just really happy,” he admitted. He smiled at him, a small little laugh emanating from his lips.

Gerard twisted around to kiss at Frank, taking his lips in his own with a smile. He was so happy. They were so happy and they were together, this was so amazing.

Gerard couldn't be more jovial at he fact that they were there and together and that last week had been the best of his existence.

He didn't care if Mikey was worried, he didn't care if his parents were worried. He didn't care about anything but Frank and himself and murder.

He loved it, he loved him. He loved the recklessness of it all.

The cut on both of their hands had scabbed over and was healing nicely, a deep red it was almost brown. IT was rough and he knew not to touch it for a few more days. It had been a fairly deep cut, enough to get them to bleed a lovely amount each.

He looked to that cut to know that these past days were real, that this time spent in motels and cars was real for them and it meant something. Because it had.

It was the transition, it was the car ride. It was them being together and sticking together in a hard time and growing stronger because of it.

Gerard loved the feeling of being closer to Frank than ever. He loved the idea of being with him, knowing him, knowing his world.

He felt him, fashioned to his bones. Frank was welded to him, always in his head, in his mind. With him.

“Frankie, I love you,” he said with a sigh, burying his face into Frank's chest.

Frank laughed, loud and clear and bright.

“I know you do, baby,” he said, wide smile so big that it seemed to cut a cavern into his cheeks. He was just so _happy_. Everything was just so perfect.

 

Mikey Way met Detective Armani with a small smile that was only meant for formalities. It was the same smile he gave the waitress his order. It did not mean that he was happy. Because he was anything but happy. 

How could he be? Pete had left him with no explanation, no number to call and not even a goodbye. He let Mikey fuck him and then he left. Like Mikey was a fucking tool and Pete was all to patient to get into his pants. Mikey knew that would be the last night, he knew that that would be the end of seeing each other by the way Pete acted, but he didn't know that it would be so sudden, so cold. He had left in the middle of the night, while Mikey was sleeping.

He felt betrayed. He felt humiliated. He felt used.

To be honest, Mikey was more embarrassed then upset with Pete. He could just leave, what did he think about Mikey, so pathetic and walked out on while he slept. Did he think he was a whore? Did he think he was weak? What did he think when he was walking out on Mikey like that, slipping out from under his form?

And his brother was being held by a madman who insisted on a large sum of money to just entertain the thought of keeping him alive. His brother was probably hurt, starving, dying. He was probably being used in ways that sent rats crawling up Mikey's spine. He didn't want to think about the horrible things. It would make him even more upset and he had too much on his plate to deal with the thought of his abused brother.

He didn't want to think about the way he knew Gerard would act differently when he came home from his hell. Because he would, to what degree and for how long was what Mikey feared to learn. 

He just wanted everything to go back to normal, to go back to how they used to be. He wanted Gerard going to work, and him going to school. Hell, if he had to, he would go back to high school, the nights spent in basements and days spent dying over and over. He would do it again if it meant saving Gerard from this.

Maybe he was just scared of what would happen when he got Gerard back. If he got Gerard back. Fuck, who was he kidding. He was. Would Gerard take some warming up to him again? Would Gerard act like his brother again once he was back, or would their relationship be hurt beyond repair? Would he blame him for what happened to him?

Mikey didn't want to think about it. It was making his head spin. It was making his stomach sick. Oh, God, would Gerard blame him? That thought echoed in his head, poisoning his thought supply.

Everything had been going badly. Even his fucking head.

He looked out the window at the grey skies, blankets over the vast sky, one shade, one color, monotone. There were no breaks in the gloom of the day. Everything had a grey, dark wash to it. Even the bright colors seemed to be muted.

It was so overcast that it was a wonder it wasn't still raining now. It rained that afternoon, he wondered if Ray could feel it through all that dirt.

It seemed to him that the bad things that Pete washed away in the few days of Mikey being graced with his medicine had come back full force over these few when he was gone. Or maybe it was just the absence that it seem so potent. He hated Pete Wentz. He hated what he did to him and what he made him feel.

He clenched his teeth, anger clouding in his eyes at the person he was clueless to the whereabouts of. His face flipped, turning from loathing to innocent in moments as he remembered Armani coming towards him to discuss the business of Gerard.

“Ma'am,” he said, nodding to Armani who promptly sat down in front of him, giving him a look of reproach. Her eyes were hesitant on his body, noticing that his language was still stiff, still hostile from the thought of his estranged brother and equally lost new enemy. 

He looked towards her, hand out for the handshake he knew was coming from the formal woman.

She reminded him a lot of Ray. How was she holding up without her partner? Without the person she had been closest to? He didn't dare ask, but the bags under her eyes told him that she was doing worse than he was.

“Mikey,” she said, giving him a sympathetic purse of the lips. She had a mole on her cheek, Mikey noticed.

Her dark hand went out to shake Mikey's, softer, larger, fingers splaying like cobwebs, dark like trees at night time.

She brought out a file, folder that he could only this was Gerard's case file. Or something like that, maybe just his information or files of evidence.

He was just about to ask about the conversation they had so talked about yesterday.

She beat him to it, answering his question with the pass of a few papers, neatly stapled together.

“This is the conversation transcript,” she explained as he read it over.

It was the basic stuff, Armani asking questions that were so blatant they would have gotten laughed at instead of answered by Mikey, too, if he was a killer. Then it got to the more meatier part of the conversation, where Frank laced out what he would do to Gerard if he didn't get the money. He didn't really say anything much on it, except that he needed his money, or Gerard might see mortality a bit more sooner than Mikey wanted.

But Armani had been truthful, there was no deadline to give it, shivers went down Mikey's spine nonetheless, because he knew the man was impatient and that would increase through the days where he didn't get his money.

Frank was a time bomb and Mikey did not know how to diffuse those things. So maybe Gerard would feel the blast.

He shivered again, even though he had warm coffee in his hands, down his throat, and a warm jacket on. He didn't want to think about the bad things, not when everything in his life was now a bad thing. He just wanted to be ignorant and selfish for a while. Even though he had been the latter his whole life, and if he didn't know it yet, the former.

He, was even a bad thing. He had all these vices that consisted with hooking up with strangers at funerals and not bringing any justice or comfort to his brother when he had been stolen away by his abuser, by his murderer.

He sighed, he had a raging headache and the print that these words were in was just making it worse.

“Armani, what can we do about this?” he asked, feeling and sounding so hopeless. As hopeless as a man climbing a mountain with plastic forks. That's what it felt like, an uphill trudge, an impossible, futile, and suicidal climb. He could not have felt more disgusted with his lack of abilities. 

His brother needed him and all he could do was speculate.

“We're trying to find where he went, we think he's heading west,” she said in a soft approaching tone, touching his hand laying on the table with that of a concerned and coddling parent. She didn't want him to flip, he didn't want to break down. Her thumb made a circle on his hand, chilling and calming and collected.

He ignored the gesture, or at least didn't comment on it. It was quite soothing, if he had to admit, her fingers were slender and stroked their way across his wrists after they had finished with the base of the thumb.

“Okay,” he nodded, his head bobbing almost deftly. He did not care if he was in London or right down the road, he just wanted his brother back. He didn't care where Frank was taking him, he just wanted to know he could get him back and if he was being hurt.

“Can you pay what he needs? If you can't, we can definitely buy you some time,” she said to him. She still sounded soft, masking the desolation with a soft tone so Mikey wouldn't get a paper cut on her words. But they still opened wounds of their own against his skin.

“Um, yeah, but I'd rather try to keep it down,” he said. He shook his head and thought about the conversation with his parents. He didn't want to have to pay for all of it, and if he could, he wanted the price brought down enough so he could pay it and not have to get a job. 

Getting a job would mean getting out of bed and having no excuse to not go back to school.

He knew that he was a disappointment to his parents, staying in bed and having no motivation to help his brother. He felt their stares every time they visited. He could feel them judging him, him in his blanket and cloak of guilt and sadness. They hated him, they blamed him.

He had felt so guilty while it was going on, like he had brought this pain of having to pay this and not know if their son was okay on it. He was the one who had asked them to help pay it when clearly this was his burden, because he hadn't kept his brother safe. He was disgusting with the way he told them like that, begging for money because he was too cheap to pay it himself. He could tell that they loathed him.

He quivered under the thought of it. He didn't want to dwell on it anymore, and Armani sensed this. So they moved on. She was like that, she could tell what was below the surface, what a person was thinking.

“I understand,” she said, moving her hand to grab something else out from her purse. She put the file back in swiftly. Her nails had been painted a deep blue, immaculate.

“Um, this is my card, I don't think you'll need it,” she added with a shrug, “Truthfully, we'll just call you to update on the situation.”

“Okay,” he nodded again. He took a sip of his coffee that was growing colder by the second as he stared enraptured at the reports she had given him. His eyes studied every word, even the ones that were just things that they did that the receiver picked up. Armani had sighed a total of six times in this report. Frank had laughed eight.

He stared at the words between him. “Give me my money or else,” Frank said as he got near the bottom of the page. Or else, or else, or else. Or else what? Or else Gerard will die? Get raped? Hurt? Bruised? Kicked? Left? Drugged? 

He didn't want to think about it, but he thought about it. It seemed to be the one thing he thought about anymore, besides Pete. He thought about his brother, the one who was under his care, in need of his help being hurt by someone that Mikey was powerless against.

Gerard was being hurt, and it was all Frank's fault.

He should have done something, kept Gerard safe. He should have helped him more. He should have stayed home that day and not gone out. What kind of monster was he? His brother's boyfriend had been taken in for a fucking murder and Gerard was a victim of that crime, too. Mikey remembered that Frank forced Gerard to bury a body. What the fuck was wrong with him? He should have stayed home. He should have watched over him, even if it annoyed him. 

He should have but he didn't. He would never again. He would never again let someone take something away from him. He would never let Frank take Gerard away.

He had been promising himself this for ages, laying in bed and watching the ceiling with regret building in his bones. He had been telling himself that he was going to do it, but oh, he was. He was going to save his brother, get him back. Those nights spent staring at walls and plotting revenge weren't all in vein.

He was going to make sure he never got away, or got taken away, again. Even if it ended up getting himself killed he would always protect his brother in ways that he didn't before. It was what he owed to him. He would prove himself, win back the love of his parents. Hell, maybe even Pete would come back and see him in a better light.

He would save his brother and if he ever met Pete again he wouldn't see he was a whore. He could see he was worth something.

He just had to find Gerard, he had to fix his life. That would take some time but by God, he was going to do it. It was a battle and it made him have to get out of bed, but he had found The Jay, so that was finding Frank once. He just had to do it again.

He was going to save Gerard. He was going to bring Frank what he deserved. He was going to take his brother home and put a bullet through Frank's fucking head.

The thought of Armani's sympathy, the thought of Ray's body and Gerard's future body bag, Pete's note, his parents hatred. These things fueled him, pushed him to the edge and made him want to fly.

He had to do this, to show people that he wasn't going to be weak anymore. He wasn't going to be weak, his whole life he had been weak and that had gotten him nowhere.

He had to do this to show people that he was going to be someone who was loyal and lovable and strong.

Pete didn't love him because he wasn't strong, didn't want him, so he used him and then he left him. He couldn't protect Gerard because he wasn't strong. His parents hated him, he wasn't strong.

He kept skimming over the paper with his eyes.  _Or else_ . Or else. Or else. Save your brother or he dies and everyone hates you. Frank knew how to get under his skin, under his fingernails.

He needed the money to save his brother for a little while longer. He needed Frank's location so he could go bring justice. He had to find him or he would go mad.

He wondered if he was actually going to do this, or if he was going to be a coward for the rest of his life. He didn't want to be a coward. He wanted to be a man who was strong, a man who kept people by his side. He wanted to be a person that someone liked.

He wanted to just have everything normal again. He didn't want this hole in his heart. He wanted his brother back, and he aimed to get him.

 

Pete got on the plane, he went home. He met Frank, he told a worried Gerard about what had happened to his brother. He relayed the details of his sadness and his unwillingness to get out of bed and function as a human being. Gerard looked guilty, Frank kissed the guilt out of him while Pete tried to look away, it reminded him too much of Mikey.

Pete wanted to kiss Mikey. He wanted to hold Mikey and make him feel better and talk to him. He wanted to drive him wild.

He went to bed that night feeling bland, feeling empty, a few sickening tears falling onto his pillow as he tried to spend his time sniffling them and silencing them. He was so glad that he gave Frank his own place, or else the two lovers would be comforting him in a split second.

But they could not help what he wanted. They could not bring him what he needed, the thing that had so forcefully been yanked out of his reach.

He wanted Mikey and his stupid little snore and arms around him and bad haircut and smiles. He wanted to feel the heat of Mikey's body on him and the whispers of the sighs against his skin. He wanted Mikey to be there, he wanted to be there with Mikey. He wanted to hold him in the middle of the night, he wanted to be naked and under him, he wanted the touch of his hands as they talked. He wanted everything that Mikey could give him. He wanted all of him.

He wanted all of him and he wanted to know if he was alright. He was worried, he must have been allowed that.

Was he sleeping well? Was he upset at him? Did his note do anything to appease him? It probably didn't. He left in the middle of the night with nothing, nothing but a napkin proclaiming 'sorry'. It made him want to be sick, what did Mikey think of him?

He felt a bit disgusting with what he did to him. It was volatile what he did. He had led him on, let him fuck him, left him with nothing. He would hate it if someone did that to him. Anyone would. He hated himself for it. He hated his fate for making that the only thing that he could have logically done.

But that was okay, because as Frank had said over the phone and while he cried into his shoulder after coming home, that it was all for the best. Frank was right, but Pete wanted to remind him how it would feel to be unable to be with Gerard.

That would have probably gained him a punch in the mouth, so he bit his tongue and kept crying. It was better not to start fights when you were half blind with tears. You don't win in sadness, you win in anger. And Pete was only angry at the stars, at himself.

He was angry at everything that kept him away from Mikey. But that did not include Frank, no, it did not include his closest friend. It only included things that he could not rationalize his anger at.

Fate was one of those things among the list.

Pete laid awake at night, thinking of Mikey and thinking of fate and what could have been and everything that seemed to have to do with it. 

Was Mikey okay? Was he as cold as Pete was? Was he crying? 

Part of him hoped so, just a small part, to see if Mikey really cared that much about him. But it would be cruel to want him to keep crying forever. Pete knew that if he was in tears that it would stop only when Pete came back to his almost lover.

He had known it before but now it hit him with the full force of an anvil dropping on his stomach. He was out of air and writhing in bed.

He could never go back to Mikey, he could never hold him again, he knew that last night was forever the last night, but he thought as long as everything worked out, they could work out.

No, the problem of Frank and Gerard would not go away, Mikey would never be his. He couldn't hide this from him. This would never go away. He was terrified he would be alone forever. Because he would, it was becoming exceptionally aparant.

He missed him, there was a hole in his chest reserved for just him. Reserved for the nights he spent curled up against his chest. The spot he carved was so large, larger than anything other thing that had nestled its way into his chest. Nothing else would ever fit right.

There was something sort of stupid about pining for a fling, pining for someone you had known for less than a week. But Pete wasn't very smart. So went on pining. 

He spent a lot of time in bed now. He spent a lot of time wishing Mikey was in bed with him. He felt all over the place and this was the only haven he had.

“Hey, Pete,” Frank called from behind his door, the wood percolating the vocals and turning it into something artificial, something smudged and subdued.

It calmed him down to feel something dulled. Anything that was real across the wound would irritate it. It was just something fake enough that he could deal with it.

But he let Frank in anyway, he knew he was worried about him. He knew that Frank just wanted to help, to apologize.

Frank wasn't very bad, he was a pretty good guy. Even though he was a murderer. Well, Pete was too, technically. He was a drug dealer. He was a crime lord.

Frank was just feeding an addiction. But we shan't worry about that, reader.

We shall focus on what Frank was doing now. What he was making Pete do now. He was just doing the right thing. But Pete knew that he felt bad about tearing him away from Mikey. And even though he didn't do anything to Pete to make him feel so deeply about Mikey, he still felt it was his fault he sent him to see how Mikey was in the first place.

Frank was like that, he worried about everything and over analyzed it all.

He entered Pete's bedroom, having traveled from the apartment Pete was letting him stay at, opening the front door with the key that Pete had bequeathed him as well.

“Hey, bro,” he said, giving him a smile that told Pete that they were going to have a terribly long conversation.

Pete sighed, turning over to look at Frank and get into a comfortable position, because he knew that this would be a very long conversation.

 


	10. Pete Wentz is Very Sad and Very Gay and so Is Mikey Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my writing thing is glitching out so copy and pasting this was weird I hope it works

Pete made way for Frank on his bed, sighing as he entered the room with a quick stride to his small legs, swiftly sitting down next to Pete's lying down form on the bed. He was all business now, he was in the business of being Pete's best friend and right hand man.

Pete had been in such a melancholic state since he got back from Mikey's, the only thing that he felt that could complete his day was Mikey's smile. But how far away was that? Thousands of miles. So he felt like a puzzle with all the pieces scattered.

Although Pete was monotone in his feelings of desolation away from Mikey, Frank was a bundle of feelings, most not particularly bad.

He was guilty, he felt guilty, and he felt so happy with Gerard waiting for him back in their new apartment, ready to cuddle him till he fell asleep and they planned their next murder. (He was so perfect, everything was so perfect.)

But not when Pete was like this. Not when Pete was so strung out over someone like this. Frank had never seen him so passionate about one person before. Never seen him so passionate ever.

He laid in bed, staring at Frank with his ears already half shut to his friendly and heartfelt words. This would be hard for Frank to get through to him. But he would try, and if push came to shove, he would let Pete do the almost sort of inevitable.

Frank took a deep breath, hands sweaty, wiping them on his ripped jeans before speaking in his worried voice, strung out with anxiety for Pete.

“Look, I'm sorry. I knew that you, actually, really, really liked him. And with all you've done for me and Gee, by the way, the house is beautiful,” he interjected his own nervous rambling with praise and gratitude. “And I know that it's not my place to say. But I didn't want you to get caught, because that would mean me and Gee getting caught,” Frank said, looking towards Pete once or twice in his little spiel. He was looking for any emotion, anything that signified his words were changing Pete or at least that he was listening to him talk.

His hands moved around like waves as he spoke, they would have caught more of Pete's attention than his words, but now he was just sort of worried about looking through him. He looked like he felt selfish. But there was nothing to worry about. Pete had it all figured out.

“I know that with all this fucking up your life, I could never begin to pay you back. Gosh, I just feel so selfish, taking all this from you,” he said, a little chuckle making Pete realize just how terribly bad that Frank did feel about all this.

There was nothing to worry about, or even feel bad about Pete was glad to help and in due time would get back what was owed to him. But he wouldn't push Frank for it, he was a friend, so he was an investment.

But Frank went on, telling him over and over again how thankful they were to have such a beautiful place. It was starting to grate on Pete's ears but it was the least he could do for the distressed man, trying so fruitlessly to repay him in some way, shape, or form.

It was all background noise to Pete anyway, he was worried about a man on the other side of the country with too many problems for him to count on his fingers.

If you, reader hadn't guessed it already, Pete was just focused on Mikey, he didn't give much of a damn how grateful Frank was, he knew that he was and he appreciated that, but he had more to focus on than just him.

But he had to be a good friend and listen to what Frank was saying. He was listening, only part time, very casually. He knew Frank was earnest but he couldn't spend his time with mundane guilt.

Not when he left Mikey like he did. It plagued him so, it haunted the dreams he had the night before and it would continue to. He was so stupid. How could he have done that to him? And with something so entirely disgusting!? It felt ridiculous to even think about it now, every thought of the moment sending white hot shame through him.

He had left him so disgustingly, so abruptly. With a note. Why just that? He couldn't have made him breakfast? He couldn't have stayed till morning, just to say goodbye and see him awake?

No, there was nothing that he could do besides slip out so insensitively in the middle of the night. Mikey had to hate him for that and that alone. He hadn't even said goodbye.

How could he be so fucking stupid? How could he be so heartless? Mikey would never want him back after that.

But it was the only thing he could do without staying longer. Seeing Mikey awake, seeing him so happy would have made him stayed. If he stayed, than that would have been bad. He was lucky he got out, and if he had to get out like that, then so be it.

It was better for Mikey to hate him because of that, so then Pete wouldn't be hanging onto something “Maybe” he would definitely know that Mikey didn't want him, but there was still the feeling of guilt that resided on him, of course there was.

He remembered feeling so restless that night. He just wanted to fall asleep and hold Mikey and forget everything else, just for a little while more. He wanted so badly to be happy, to be happy with Mikey. He wanted him in his arms, forever.

But the night still felt so toxic, so potent to his mind, fresh in there from just about a day's pass. Of course he remembered it, but it seemed to dominate his every waking moment. Good thing that jet lag and a worry for Mikey Way over the past few days together had fucked up his sleeping schedule so much he could actually sleep more than be awake and relish in the fact that he was a terrible person for more than a few hours so far.

It was all such an infantile amount of time, too little for him to think too much about it, of course, for anyone besides Pete Wentz. But it still seemed to be able to worm its way in there, itching at his mind in the most annoying of ways. Making him want to scratch so hard he bled the night away.

He had been over that scene where he slipped on his clothes and slipped out the door so many times he remembered how many times Mikey breathed between the time it took Pete to get off the couch and to the door. He remembers the toxic green lights of the clock and the feeling on Mikey's arms slip off him.

He wanted to melt into him, he wanted to feel his hands, his arms, soft, bending nails. He wanted him, on him, all over him. It was the most magical night of his life and maybe it was the build up that did it to him. Maybe it was the fact that he had spent days without Mikey putting out. Maybe it was good because he didn't care if Mikey didn't put out, maybe he was different and that was what made everything else different.

But there was no time for that when he was going stealthily into the night like he was. He had to get away, had to get away before Mikey woke up.

He had to make him hate him so they wouldn't be holding on like that forever. Pete was going to hold on to that maybe something forever.

The darkness of the dirty little sneak away was something that he had sucked inside of him every time he took a breath. And he did not take many, he was afraid of waking Mikey with any little sounds.

But Mikey slept like a rock, oblivious to what was going on. He wished, a little part of him truly did, that he would wake up and he would stop Pete from leaving.

But Pete knew what would happen if he woke up and saw Pete leaving, it would be disastrous to Mikey's self esteem. Among so many other ways that that could have gone depending on what happened directly after Mikey saw him, up, getting on shoes.

Pete was terrified of what would happen if he woke up. Would he confront him? Could Pete have gotten out on a lie and trapped back in for a few more days while Frank and Gerard waited impatiently for him to come home. He wanted Mikey to wake up, he wanted that to happen and he wanted to stall and stay and fall in love.

God, he knew that Mikey was the one and that he could just fall in love with him. Just a few more days and it could have been more than just a maybe almost sort of thing that they had going on.

Mikey's arms had felt so strong around him, sliding on his skin, slick with sweat and serendipity of the most malicious kind. Mikey was an anomaly and he was Pete's for a short while.

Pete couldn't think of him as anyone else's. He wanted him, by his side, holding his hand, kissing him, deep and sweet, everyday for the rest of his life.

He wanted his brown eyes, soft and melting, so hot it burned his insides. Mikey was the only thing he had ever yearned for to this extent.

He had had everything else he could want, wealth, success, good friends. He didn't have Mikey.

He worried that the only reason he wanted him so much was only because he couldn't have him. Like he was a child. He didn't want to hurt Mikey. But he was afraid that he would grow bored of his new infatuation.

It was like him to act like a whirlwind, like a tempest that left the thing he was looking at broken.

Mikey was so small, with sharp bones and tiny smiles and thin fingers. He didn't want to break him, he was so easy to break. He looked so easy to snap in half and bury under more repressed memories.

Frank was still talking, going on and on about God know's what. Probably something like gratitude for all Pete had done for him.

“Frank,” Pete said with a scratchy voice after he heard enough background babbling to last him a few weeks at the least. He was tired of hearing him spill his guts so awkwardly and on deaf ears no less.

“Yeah?” he asked,hands so jittery and eyes so wide Pete couldn't comprehend he had killed several dozen people. He looked innocent, intimidated. Or maybe just subordinate.

“Shut up. For like a few minutes on whatever you were saying,” Pete asked with a sigh and a flick of his hand to make his point. “What's up with Gerard?” he asked for a change in topic as soon as the silence was enough to subdue him. At least this was a better topic than gratitude. He hated that, it made him think of work. It made him think of cowardly people begging for their lives.

“He's good,” Frank broke out in a smile wider than the grand canyon, always happy to talk about his lover. It was almost sickening, the way that they were so in love, but that was how he wanted to be with Mikey, so he really shouldn't have thought anything on it.

Pete sighed, laying back on his pillow thinking about Mikey. Would he have the liberty to one day talk about him like this to Frank? Would he one day be so happy with someone of his own? It seemed with Mikey so far away that that would be impossible.

But some part of him still hoped for something, some miracle to send him back to Jersey.

Obviously not, that was the last time he had seen Mikey. That would be the last time. It hit him, again and again, every time he came to terms with it, it was like a terrible concussion. It was like he was drowning, over and over again. And he knew his face but he was entirely too helpless to stop it. He hated feeling helpless.

He also hated feeling so lonely. Frank was right there, but he wasn't there. He wasn't anything that Pete could tell was tangible. He was just noise, a distraction that was becoming too annoying. He wanted Mikey and his soft voice and his small, chosen words. He never really rambled, he was always so preserved.

Never again. Never again would he hear Mikey talk. His voice was so gorgeous. It was so soft and velvety.

His voice was the only thing that kept him from going insane as they had sex, not enough to be making love, making art. That was it, that night they were artists, musicians, with the clapping of bodies and whispered words on just as worn skin. A piece entitled Maybe, In Another World.

In his fruitful wishing, he also wished that Life imitated Art, then maybe, just maybe, he could have been happy. But no, everything remained art until it was useless and sad, then it was life.

Everything was ever so dull. He had to have him again, hear him again, see him again. He had to touch him again. God, it was going to drive him mad. This lusting, this wanting, it was coming after him like a mad hound. It followed him like a beast of wanton.

It was going to get him someday. He was going to go insane one day or even die of a broken heart, he would die, wanting something that he couldn't have and that would make his death a thousand times more bitter.

He didn't want to die without the love of Mikey Way, but maybe the lack of it would be the very thing to kill him.

Frank didn't notice that Pete was starting to break apart with the distance between him and Mikey, like the miles between them was a levy, cracking Pete's skin further. He wondered what he looked like without skin, without sin, without Mikey Way in his arms.

Frank continued to talk about Gerard, unknowing on how the beast of wanton would try to catch up with poor Pete Wentz. He talked about different things upon the same vein of everything, how happy they were, how grateful they were. He expressed Gerard's love of the apartment and his beauty in great detail. Like Pete didn't already know how Frank felt about Gerard and their apartment and all Pete had done for them.

It was all the same old things, so Pete was not really paying attention, but it was nice for Frank to be so happy with someone. Although, there was probably something more to their relationship than happiness, with Frank, everything was fairly toxic.

He really did hope that the two men would make it out of the relationship alive, the volatile nature of everything that they did was sure to rub against some other factor and create a spark too big to stifle. But maybe he was just worried for his friend and his nice lover.

Gerard was Mikey's brother, so he sort of had to care, because he cared about Mikey. He cared like a person who was wary and only just a little compassionate.

He let Frank talk though, because he needed a distraction from the man, across the country, holding him captive.

He sighed, playing with the string on the hem of his blanket. Frank touched his shoulder, making him look up and pay more attention to the man who was now not talking about his lover, but looking at Pete in concern.

“You miss him.” It wasn't a question. But Pete had to respond to it anyway, he had to admit that he was missing him. Even if it was slightly embarrassing and completely tearing him apart.

He just nodded, rustily, jauntily. It was the least he could do without admitting the embarrassing thing. He had never missed anyone before, and definitely not like this.

Frank just sighed, he couldn't believe he was doing this for him, risking so much. But he remembered how much Pete risked for him. So he had to do this. He clapped a hand on Pete's shoulder as Pete sat, wary of what Frank was going to do.

Frank couldn't believe he was giving him permission to do this, he just hoped he would be careful, he prayed he would be careful. They were risking so much.

go back to him, I'll tell Gerard,” he said. He let his arm fall with a thud. He felt tired with the decision, scared and a little bit anxious.

He looked at Pete, sort of in pity, in a little bit of remorse. Maybe, it was hard to pinpoint.

Pete was dumbfounded, staring at Frank with his mouth sort of unhinged.

“I can't do that to you and Gee! What if he found out?” he asked, staring at Frank with wide eyes.

Frank just shrugged, all seriousness was making its way into his voice as he looked at Pete again. Pete's mind was just a whir. Was this really happening to him? Or was it some vivid daydream that was leaking it's way into his reality? Was it just a sick joke his mind was playing on him, letting him slip into further madness?

Or was it all real and was Frank the one that was going insane?

How could Frank give him the permission to do this? To do something he wanted to so badly but would risk all threes necks'? It didn't seem smart, but he so desperately wanted to fall in love with Mikey. He knew that he could, he knew that he would. God, he already was. He was falling, and he was falling hard. The guy was practically crashing.

“You make sure you're not caught, you make as many lies as possible, and you keep him off our trail,” Frank wagged his hand, looking off, thinking more. “This is good, this is good. You can act as a spy. Tell me if they get nearer, check up on him for Gee,” he said.

He looked towards Pete again, shifting his leg under his other one. “Don't break his heart like we did, though,” he reminded before walking out again.

The door closed, Pete laying down with a thump a moment after the click of the door shut. What was he going to do? This seemed like such a risky idea, but there were the positive consequences to it. He could act as a spy, but if he got found out, it would be all over. He would be arrested, and they would get Frank and Gerard.

He didn't want to be their downfall, but he wanted Mikey so badly.

Although, there was still the question as to if Mikey would take him back. Would he want him enough? Would he be able to apologize enough for Mikey to forgive him for so insensitively leaving like he did?

He wanted to find out, he wanted to go back to Jersey and find the boy who was so stuck in his thoughts.

He was going to go back to Jersey and he was going to hug Mikey again and kiss him and tell him sorry and tell him that everything would be okay because he was there with him.

 

“I don't care, Armani. He's my brother, and I want to help!” Mikey yelled at the phone for the second time in the last five minutes. Armani would not listen to him when he said he wanted to be apart of finding his brother and bringing justice to Frank.

“Micheal Way, you know what they do to police officers and detectives that have too personal a tie to a case?” she asked him in a smoldering voice, like she was trying to stifle any hope of him helping out through her gritted teeth.

“Yes, I know. I would just feel a lot better if I was getting the fastest possible updates, and that means being right there, helping you get those updates!” he said, chewing his nails, waiting for her reply which took a few seconds to get, beginning with an exasperated sigh.

“Mikey, if I let you help out would you sleep better at night?” she asked, voice deadpan and tired, the sound of her scratching her forehead being in the background for him to hear.

“Yes!” he nearly yelped, so excited that with all his badgering she finally agreed to help him out with this.

“Okay, then. You can come in whenever you need to, do some work on your own and I'll come over tomorrow to discuss the finer details,” she said, in a voice that was as threadbare as her will. Mikey had done it, he had whittled her down so she would agree to let him help.

He did a little dance, sure she could hear it through the speaker. “Thank you, Armani! I already have some ideas for approaching the case,” he said, hanging up and going to get his notes.

He thought it best to call Bob, his partner when finding Frank out his partner for searching him out again.

“Hey, Bob,” he started, the soft sound of a ringing in his ears for several seconds before he heard a gruff voice answer him.

“Mikey Way! A lot has happened to you, my friend,” Bob said, almost like there was a sadistic smile on his face.

There probably was, the sick bastard.

Mikey never really seemed to like Bob, but he was one of the only friends he had so he went with it, he let Bob be a dick because that was just what Bob was.

“Yeah, you've probably seen it all over the news,” he said. Come to think of it, Mikey hadn't watched the news since Gerard went away. Hell, he hardly knew what they were saying about Frank and Gerard.

“Yeah, new murder. This one with two people,” Bob said, smirking.

“Oh, God,” Mikey moaned, sick to his stomach. Now, he really had to get Gerard back and get Frank's sick ass in prison.

“Oh, my God, what did he make my brother do?” he asked, not even wanting to hear the whole story but needing to, or else he wouldn't be able to sleep at night. He wouldn't sleep now anyway, though.

“Murdered a hitch hiker. Young girl. Slit her throat,” he said. “Blood everywhere,” Bob spoke, taking delight in Mikey's combustion.

“Oh, God. Did my-?” he asked, sliding down the wall, all happiness and hope gone. There was nothing that could fix this. His brother was corrupt forever.

“Yup. But don't worry, obviously, Frank made him do it,” he said, voice dripping with insinuation that Gerard was the killer. Or at least, one of them.

“Don't you dare try to say that, you know he's innocent,” Mikey said, hating his locked hand, so adamant on holding the phone up to his ear. He couldn't hang up, he had to defend his brother. Of course, he did.

“Mhm, innocent. You know, Mikey? Your brother isn't as precious as he seems,” Bob said before hanging up on him, leaving Mikey to shake against the floor where the tile of the kitchen met with the carpet of the living room.

He couldn't believe what Bob was trying to say to him, he couldn't believe that his brother was considered a murderer by people who thought like Bob.

He was innocent, he was terrified of Frank, and sure Frank had made him kill that girl, but that was a disgusting display of dominance, that was not Gerard's free will making him kill like that. That was Frank telling him to.

He shivered, imagining how the conversation went down between them. Did Frank threaten to kill Gerard if he didn't do it? Did he do something worse than being killed?

God, he didn't want to think about it! He wanted everything to stop and be normal but it felt that everything was happening too fast, everything that was permanent anyway.

He wanted everything how it was, before Frank, before this. When Gerard only drew and had nightmares about murder. When Gerard wasn't a victim that you saw on television and shook your head in pity at.

He didn't want to be a lifetime movie. He had to get his brother back before everything could slip more down the drain than it already had.

He kept promising himself that he would do that, but it seemed that he always fucked up before he could. It seemed that something always happened to knock him back down once he got up again. He didn't want to deal with this anymore. Although, he never did in the first place. Who would want this to happen to them? No one.

He sighed, feeling too sick to do anything except lay in bed. He couldn't look at a picture of his brother, that would just bring back the bad conversation. That would bring back another wave of nausea. And he didn't feel like throwing up. He also didn't feel like going to sleep with the idea that his brother was a murderer in his mind.

That would only bring bad dreams and he had enough of those when he was awake. He didn't need them in his refuge of sleep.

But he kept dwelling on it, despite his own wishes and his advice to forget it. He went over the facts and reader, he was prejudiced and biased, of course, but he could not fathom his brother consenting to be at the hands of a knife.

It wasn't true, it couldn't be true. He kept dwelling on it, as he tossed and turned in bed. He couldn't believe anything. He couldn't distrust anything.

He really fucking hated Bob for planting this idea in his head like this. It would stick in his mind for days, weeks. It would stay till Gerard could come back and tell him that it wasn't true. So he would spend sleepless nights even more sleepless.

Pete could have fended off his anxiety and let him sleep, just with his arms around him. It would be so easy for him to do it, he had done it so effectively for the days he was here. He missed his so much.

He wished Pete were with him, he wished that he would come and make him forget again and sweep him off his feet and not ask much. God, Pete was so perfect. He understood when something was wrong, he understood when Mikey needed attention, but he also needed space. Pete was the most amazing thing he had ever the pleasure to witness.

Pete was so amazing, holding him and letting Mikey fuck him like he did. He was gorgeous, God, he was everything Mikey could grow to love, and he was everything that Mikey needed. He was so perfect, he was so amazing.

He could even forgive him for being so insensitive about leaving like he did in the middle of the night. Or maybe he didn't and Mikey was just desperate for someone to hold him.

He turned over on his side, staring at his wall as he wondered what Pete was wondering like the couples in all those stupid romantic comedies. He sighed, thinking about him, oh so far away.

Was he like Mikey, was he looking for him in places that were just empty corners filled with cobwebs? Was he wondering, right now, what Mikey was doing? Like Mikey was doing to Pete?

Or was he asleep and was he dreaming of something better that did not keep him tethered to this world? Was he beyond Mikey? Could Mikey even know it?

Was Pete somewhere out there, wherever he went to, back home, safe, happy? Was he in love? Was he falling in love? How long would it take him to forget Mikey?

He didn't want to think about that, it made him sick. Almost as sick as Gerard.

God, he could barely say his own brother's name without bile rising in his throat. And he could barely think of Pete with someone else before he felt like puking also. Everything set him on edge these days, and everything seemed to mess him up further.

There was a knock on his door, just as he was about to get really calmed down, via Pete and images of him holding him, strong, tanned arms around Mikey's lanky body. He could not believe that he was a bottom. But God, was he a good one.

He yawned, letting himself trudge out of bed, not like that was where he spent most of his time. Even with Pete all he did was nap.

He opened the door, rubbing his eyes and hoisting the blanket further around his shoulders before he looked to the caller, so insensitive to be up at this hour.

His vision was fuzzy and his footsteps slightly slurred. He didn't see the person till that person spoke to him, and in the most dreadfully beautiful voice imaginable.

“Mikey Way,” said Pete Wentz with a bright toothy grin in the darkness, foot that was holding his tilting body up against the door coming down as his body went straight.

He looked so cocky, just as cocky as when they met at Ray's funeral (God, that made him even more sick), but not as well dressed.

But Mikey would be damned if Pete Wentz didn't look just as hot, in fact, he seemed to be more damned with the dreams of sodomy he had for him.

He was in deep for Pete Wentz, and not even a shitty move could change that for him.

“Pete Wentz,” he said with a smile on his lips, something that was totally involuntary when he came in contact with Pete and his own coy little smile.

It was something that was entirely too instinctual for his liking.

It was weird, because he wasn't bothered by the fact that Pete should have gone home, half way across the country and here he was, only about a day later, having left so abruptly.

He ushered him in, sitting him on the couch and then sitting on the seat that was directly across from it. He felt like there should be something awkward between the two, but there was nothing but excitement bubbling under each other's skin. It seemed to come in little ripple pools, like shock waves against each man's skin was bouncing away and resonating for several seconds before fading into oblivion.

There was a fire, something that had ignited rather than died after they had the prospect of being away from each other. Pete's soft brown eyes held the match while Mikey's more washed out brown held the kindling.

They had missed each other, and that was speaking for each one individually. They just happened to share the same opinion on the distance that might have been between them even longer and that was a negative one.

But they wouldn't tell that to the other, but it was something that seemed to make the two gravitate together. Eyes and souls and words, all melding together like divine humans, like curiosity and the death of felines everywhere.

“So, what brought you back?” he asked, studying an eased Pete with his eyes, sharp and watchful.

He was making small talk because all of his feelings were so amazingly large, it was funny how he tried to compensate by compressing.

“Well, obviously you, my dear,” he said, a flourish of his hand that Mikey watched out of the corner of his eye. His voice was smooth, like he was the devil. He smiled like one, watching Mikey like he was trying to calculate the best way to kill him.

Mikey didn't care, Mikey wouldn't mind.

Mikey gave a bit of a smug smile, hoisting his leg up over his knee, watching Pete who was watching him. They looked at each other for sometime, just relishing the closeness and each of them knowing it for a few minutes before speaking to each other again.

 


	11. So Maybe Pete was Stupid and He's Finally Feeling the Aftermath of It (Graveyard Groceryshopping and Angry I Love You's)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's terrible because I have terrible vibes and didn't start writing till Tuesday and my writing processor broke.

Mikey Way wiped his hands on his thighs, digging his palms into the dwindling appendages. He hadn't been eating. He hadn't been doing anything to take care of himself. So he had gotten thinner as a result, so tiny that it hurt to lie down. His shoulder blades were sensitive and his ribs poked out more so than usual. He must have looked like a professional corpse. He was pale and shaky and had a wide look to his eyes that showed he was much too far gone from sleep.

He couldn't sleep without Pete. Especially when all this talk about his brother was going through his head. Shit! He had almost forgotten that for the night, now it would probably never leave unless Pete did something else to distract him from it. That was all Pete was, was a distraction for him. He acted like a little diversion and then Mikey went right back to hating his life. It was a bit of an unhealthy cycle but Mikey had always been self indulgent, so why stop now?

He sighed, twittling his thumbs, bitten down the quick with his newfound obsession with destroying everything he could about himself.

Pete looked at him like he wasn't fucked up though, he looked at him like he wanted him. Like he cared about him past getting in his pants. The thought of that led to the thought of him leaving in the middle of the night. He hadn't even said goodbye to him. It wasn't like he loved him, it wasn't like he had to stay, he reminded himself bitterly. But it would ahve been nice if he did, just to show him that e thought of Mikey as a human being. But it would have been nice to wake up next to the person that made you so happy. But Mikey was thinking wistfully.

He looked up at Pete again, staring at him with eyes that gave him some confusion. He wanted him, he wanted him to look at him like that. But he was terrified that he would slip out again and he would leave him. He couldn't stop thinking like that. He couldn't stop replaying the bad things because the bad things seemed to be his only food nowadays.

But he was still so hungry, he was always going to be hungry. Maybe it was the fact that he was nearly indifferent to everything that was fucking with him, or maybe it was the fact that he hadn't eaten actual food in God knows how long. His stomach growled, so loud it interrupted his thoughts. The conversation had stilled in the past ten minutes since Pete showed up so it was particularly embarrassing for Mikey to endure the noise of his own failure.

"Have you been eating, Michael?" he asks him in a small voice, caring voice, confusing voice. He didn't care, he couldn't care. It was impossible for him to care about him. He watched him, eyebrows knit like he was his mother and he actually cared about him, like no one else really did at the time of his most need. Or maybe it was his fault for pushing them away or his own paranoia.

When Gee came back, everyone would love him for saving the day and it would be okay again. Then he could go back to sleeping normally and not relying on a guy that would fuck him over like he was fucking Scarlett O'Hara and Pete Wentz was Rhett Butler. He didn't want to go comparing himself to 1920's literature based on the Civil War so he stopped, ignoring the concerned looks Pete gave to him, watching him sit in his own head and talk to himself. Oh, God, he was going insane. He couldn't have that on top of all of this.

Pete was a blessing and a curse because he stopped the flow of feeling stuck, but he also gave him a whole new set of problems to deal with that were much too trivial for his liking. He couldn't deal with romance. Especially now, not now when he was trying to find his brother, to really nothing of fruition with the fact that he was a total piece of his about it. Mikey raked a cruel hand through his hair.

"No, too stressed," he said to him, finally answering his question, looking down at his couch, fraying at the edges. He was jittery though, bouncing thighs and twirling fingers. He was always jittery. Pete bit his lip, silently judging his inability to keep up with his basic necessities. Mikey didn't look up at him till Pete spoke again. He didn't have time to be judged, he had to go dwell and be sick on his brother and all he could be doing.

"Put on your shoes, we're going to the grocery store," he finally decided. His hands were on his hips and since he didn't take off his shoes since coming in, he was already waiting for a slightly clueless Mikey Way, who just registered what he was saying when he came out of his head to peak out at what he really said.

"I don't have any money," he said truthfully. He patted his thighs, looking down again at the embarrassment of him. He was poor and dysfunctional and totally too messed up for the acceptance and admiration of Pete Wentz. He didn't deserve him, even when Pete Wentz himself fucked up so royally it would always be hung over his head. He had walked out, that was enough for Mikey to hold that over his head. It made him wanted to cry whenever he thought about it and he thought about it all the time. he was surprised that Pete was standing right here and this was the first time within the twenty or so minutes that he was actually thinking about it. But he had more troubles than romance as we've so seen. But now there was this extra one that Mikey was just fucking pissed off to see pop into his life at such an inconvenient time for him.

Money. He was flat broke and although it had been like that for most of his existence, this time there was almost no fixing to it. Gerard had been the one to earn the money. He didn't have much except a savings account. He would have to drop out of school to get a job good enough to support himself alone. And finding a job like that with just a high school degree and half a college one would be difficult. But Pete was still looking at him like his total financial future was now suddenly put into perspective and that perspective was a person falling into the grand canyon. Pete looked at him and without skipping a beat,

"I'll pay." He was being generous, too generous for someone that Mikey was supposed to hate, at least for a little bit more of their relationship. But he could never hate Pete, he could never feel anything but mild anger at him. And even that had faded away into a dull resentment within a day. Give it a week and it would be absolutely gone.

"Pete, I can't-" he started before being interrupted by him again.

"Yes, you can. Mikey, you're starving," he reminded him. He looked up at him, staring at him in a condescending way. Mikey wanted to punch the look off of his face. But he also wanted to cry so he just looked down to locate his shoes.

"Fine," he mumbled, stepping into his shoes. They were actually Gerard's. But he could deal for a little while. He didn't have to think about his brother for now, where ever he was, how ever he was. He hoped he was alright. He hoped he was safe. He would find him soon enough, or at least help. God, it seemed like he was never a help. He was always just a little bit more of a fuck up than he wanted to be. God, he was a horrible person, through and through.

Pete ushered him out the door, flicking the lock as they walked out. They were taking Mikey's car. The beat up thing being one of his only connections to the outside world for now. He didn't do anything on his phone and his laptop was more like a refuge than a connection. "Pete, it's eleven. What grocery store is going to be open at this time?" he asked. Last time he checked there were no twenty-four hour grocery stores. The clock read that it had just approached on the late hour and he could tell by the fact that his eyes were starting to droop and he felt out of place in the living room, talking to someone about going out, even if it was just to the grocery store.

"Don't worry. I know a place," he said with a smile, trying to ease his fears with the phrase. It didn't really work, for various reasons. Maybe it was the fact that Mikey didn't wholly trust this guy, this virtual stranger, that made him worry about what his words meant. No, it was just that he was more aware of the area than even Mikey was. It wasn't a dumpy place either, it was nice, flashing neons and no run down signs, almost no one in there, but that was okay. That was more than okay actually, that was a happy observation of Mikey's. He hated buying food when other people were around. He hated going out in public, so this seemed like a bit of an improvement.

Pete grabbed his hand, hair flowing in the fragile wind, cutting like a knife against Mikey's exposed skin. He should have worn a better, thicker jacket. But how was he supposed to know? His companionship with the outside had been scarce, even when he wasn't a complete mess. He had been sociable, but he had also been more of a club crawler. The act of Pete just holding his hand was something so mesmerizing, so electric in itself that Mikey almost marveled at it. Maybe it was just him regressing in his stress that made it seem like everything was insanely intense, eating was complex, everything was complex. Mikey walked in with Pete, grabbing a basket and started searching the aisles for things that he needed. He grabbed the basic things, easy things that he needed that were near the front of the store. The store itself had a few couples, and quite a bunch of the people were alone. But it seemed to be a quaint place.

He was checking the dressings, trying to decide if he needed italian or ranch dressing more. Pete came up behind him, snaking arms around his back, standing up on his tiptoes to put his chin on his shoulder. Mikey was so much more taller than him that even on tiptoes it was a bit of a stretch. Mikey laughed at him, turning around and taking him into his arms. He could fall in love with him. This all seemed so normal, so innocent and real. He could learn to love Pete. He already did. The thought hit him like bricks, maybe it was the lack of sleep or the curling of the hunger in his stomach but he loved him, he realized. He loved Pete and he didn't know anything about him.

"Pete, what's your favorite color?" he asked, deciding on the italian before moving on.

"It's red, why?" he asked him, looking at him with furrowed brows and a curious expression.

"No reason, just wondering," Mikey shrugged, tightening his grip around Pete's waist. The feeling of his body against him seemed to warm him up. They moved onto the next aisle. Pete laid his head on Mikey's shoulder and Mikey's heart started beating faster and he could swear Pete could here it. He did, looking at him, a little surprised, slightly worried, completely smitten. Mikey picked up a box of pop-tarts, juggling it in his hands before setting it in the basket next to the other things. The squeak of his shoes against the linoleum was something soft and scoffing.

The music twinkled in the background it was some stupid nineties song that Mikey couldn't help but sort of like. He hummed along, Pete's eyes on him as he did so. Pete always kind of stared at him, he didn't really mind. He had gotten used to it by then. But this felt thicker, this felt different. This was like Mikey was being watched like he was being studied, like he was a piece of art or something and Pete was searching for every little detail he could. Mikey bounces, his humming getting a little louder as he got more into the song and more out of Pete's staring. It was better to just tune it out. Pete was always being weird like this. He shuffled, scanning the next side, Pete's eyes still following him with his own.

Now, it was getting a bit unnerving and Mikey was starting to wonder, what exactly did he get on his face. He hated being stared at, especially for long periods of time. He was about to turn to Pete and ask him what his problem was with him that made him stare so much when it slipped out of Pete's mouth. Mikey could see him out of his peripheral, staring at him, leaning against the shelves, stark and straight up. He looked uncomfortable but happy at the same time, a weird combination if you've ever seen it in action.

There was a small smile on his face, as if he was amused with a joke he knew that Mikey would not get. It was pissing him off and then he just had to go and say that fucking plot device, so obvious in every single piece of media alive that Mikey almost rolled his eyes if he wasn't in shock with the Romeo and Juliet side of it all. They had known each other for a week, that was not a long time at all, and he had to go and say this to him?

"Mikey, I love you," he tells him and they both stop. Mikey looks more pissed than he does happy. It just slipped out, it was something that he didn't really mean to say. It was something that he didn't even really mean. But it hung in the air like oil on the ocean and all the fish were coming up to the surface, dead. Everything was desolate. Pete stopped, staring at Mikey, both of them deer in the headlights. Mikey's breath kept catching in his throat and they stared at each other till it started to hurt. Mikey was the first to look away. He continued walking away from Pete who stood for a few seconds before following.

"You're not going to say it back?!" Pete hissed at him. He didn't expect him to but it seemed to hurt more when he didn't. He watched Mikey's back for a split seconds before the taller man turned to him. And in that split second he had felt a pain that he had never felt before, it was abandonment, a hollowing out in his chest, making it seem like it was caving in.

"Of course not. I don't know you!" Mikey hissed back, slamming some bread into the red plastic basket, next to some mayonnaise he had gotten. He looked up at him like he was ready to cry, like he was all too flustered to let Pete do this to him right now.

"I don't know you!" he said, flicking his fingers between the two men. Mikey looked down at his fingers with an even more incredulous look, like he blamed Pete's gesticulation for this predicament.

"And that's why this is entirely too fucked to work," he said with a huff, turning and walking on in all too fast of a pace.

"Mikey Way, get back here and discuss this with me?" he said, pursing his lips in anger. They were both still whispering in the almost desolate store. Mikey didn't turn around so Pete came up behind him, putting his arms around his waist, not wanting him to shake him off and turn away before he could say what he wanted to. He kissed his neck, Mikey's breath hitching.

"You don't have to say it back, okay, baby? I love you," he said, whispering it against his skin and making Mikey feel a little bit better, but a little bit bad.

"I want to love you," he confessed with a sigh. It was more like an attempt not to cry, he played with his fingers, feeling the weight of Pete on him. He didn't walk on, he just stared at the food on the shelf that he wasn't going to put in the basket while they talked, not looking at each other.

"Why can't you?" he asked him, trailing his fingers on his stomach, breath making the apparatus expand and die again with every few seconds.

"I don't know you," he said yet again,

"I don't trust you." That one stung.

"Why don't you trust me?" he murmured against him, eyes clutched tight, hoping that it was just his baggage calling and not that huge mistake he made when he walked out in the middle of the night. No luck.

"You know, Pete. You were the one to do it," he said, bitterness in his tone.

"I'm sorry. Forgive me?" he asked him kissing his neck again, standing on his tiptoes to do so.

"You left me," Mikey said with his voice cracking and his hand going to capture any other melancholic sound that would escape if he didn't. Pete felt terrible for doing that to him, felt terrible for making him feel like that, push him to crying.

"I'm sorry," Pete whispered tightening his grip on him, his possible lover that was slipping through his fingers in a silent landslide. He wanted him, forever, he wanted to hold him and love him and make all of his worries wash away with calloused hands and holy water. He wanted to save him but he wasn't much of the angel type. Mikey's hand went to rest on the shelf, his fingers curling so tightly he became a ghost at the edges. They must have looked like quite a pair, one falling apart and one desperately trying to glue him back together.

"I love you, Mikey. Always. I was so stupid," he said, trying to make anything better between them. He didn't want to be the reason Mikey was crying. Mikey cupped his mouth again, looking up at the sky above them. Like he could pray to the Gods stuck in the florescent lights. He looked back down again after studying the ceiling to the place, sighing like he was upset and disappointed at everything. He looked up at the checkout aisle, a bored employee standing there, half asleep and covered in a blue uniform.

"Let's go check out," Mikey said, not looking at Pete.

Pete felt the cold shoulder was not really warranted but he would put up with it, because Mikey had a point, he was just now getting the wrath of Mikey Way and the consequences of slipping out in the middle of the night. He trailed along, getting out his debit card to pay for the things. Mikey frowned at the action, but Pete just shrugged because Mikey couldn't pay for his own and Pete had money to spare. Money to spare enough to give his serial killer best friend and Mikey's brother refuge from the world and luxury living for free. He felt terrible, but he would never, ever, tell Mikey any of these horrible things. He could never know, everything that Frank and Gerard did next depended on him keeping a secret. The biggest secret he had ever kept before, and he kept a lot of secrets.

Hell, his entire being was a secret. He was a drug lord amongst a fuck ton of college hippies back in Portland. Mikey didn't look at him till they were back in the car and he had started the car. And then, he only looked at him to say thank you. They continued on in silence till Pete spoke again, blasting out of his shell of acceptance, unable to take the silence. Saying "I love you" wasn't that big of an offense.

"What did I do wrong?" he asked as they got on the highway. Mikey jumped at the sudden display of anger on Pete's part, a little jitter before he went back to looking at the road. "You lied," he said icily, teeth and tongue cutting against each other in the most professional of manners Pete had ever seen. "About what?" he asked. A hot wave of 'maybe he found out' went through his stomach and wasn't cleared till Mikey shook his head and spoke again. "You told me you loved me," he said, wiping a hand against his tears again. God, Pete didn't think being loved was such a trial. He had never been loved before, he didn't plan on getting started anytime soon, because Mikey Way was the only one he wanted to be loved by. Mikey's was the only love that he would accept. Anyone else was less compared to him. Because he loved him.

"Because I do," he said in a hollow voice, like everything was so easy. Because it was, but to Mikey it wasn't.

"Impossible, I'm terrible," he said to Pete, shaking his head and laughing at him. Or maybe it was the both of them, or just Pete, or maybe he was just trying to keep from crying again. Either way, it was a different reaction than Pete had expected. He was so weird.

"I love you, you're not terrible. I love your voice and your fingers, and your bedroom and the way you smell. I love you."

Mikey sighed again, "You don't know me," he said with anther dry smile.

"I don't need to," Pete shrugged.

"You don't know me," Mikey repeated again, like he was trying to drill it into both of their heads.

"I want to," Pete said with a little smile on his face. Mikey looked to him again, slowly blinking, like he was trying to be careful about it.

"You'll hate me," he said gritting his teeth and looking away. They turned into the parking lot of Mikey's apartment complex, all of the lights of the city off except for some of the more restless nightlife on the skyline.

Why was he trying to push Pete away? Why was he trying to convince him that he was a bad bet and he should just take his money and go home. But he didn't want to, he wanted to try his luck some more. He wanted Mikey and he wanted to love him. This was what he came to Jersey for and God damnit, he was gonna get it. He was going to love Mikey Way if it killed him and he was nearly sure it would with all the fucked up things that were going on between everyone right then. He got out of the car, Mikey not wanting to hear him speak anymore, not wanting to continue the conversation.

"I'll love you more," Pete said, jogging up the stairs to the third floor, Mikey trying to keep his eyes away from Frank's old apartment a few doors down from him.

"Yeah, right, take it from what's happened to me. Everyone runs away from me," he said, walking in before Pete, he added a few words, already deeper in the apartment than Pete so his words were muffled, "you left me."

"Your brother didn't," he said and forget the punch the words hit in his heart with another lie that put an even bigger hole in his heart. He did leave him, but only for love, and that was understandable, at least to Pete.

"No, he was just kidnapped by an abusive murderer," he said, rolling his eyes. He sensed that Pete was going to talk again and he put his hands up.

"Shut up, Pete, I don't wanna talk about it." He put away the small bag of groceries, still scarce in the empty space of the kitchen, but it was something. He would eat something. Pete noticed that he was getting smaller since he met him. And that was just a week before. He was doing better, but only when he was with him. He still didn't seem to function like a normal human being. Maybe it was just the stress, or maybe it was the cascade of unfortunate happenings that had him so fucked up. Pete shrugged, sitting at the counter, watching as he put things away, swinging his legs. God, he hated being short. Mikey turned to him, putting everything that he needed to in the fridge. Pete couldn't believe how a person could function with so little of food in their possession, but maybe Mikey could do it. Pete never could.

"You want the couch?" Mikey asked him. Maybe he was getting better, he refused to sleep anywhere but in a constant proximity to Pete only a few days before. Pete shrugged, kinda bummed that he would not sleep close to him again. Maybe that was his fuck up calling, the first one, or the one in the store, or maybe that was just like he said it was at first, Mikey getting better.

"Okay," Pete said, stretching and taking off his clothes, taking the blanket folded on the top of the couch and pulling it onto himself. Mikey watched him for a moment before going into his own room. Pete almost fell asleep in a few minutes, taking the blanket into his fists and curling it around his face before drifting off into something that could resemble sleep if it was anymore deeper.

"Pete," Mikey hissed, creeping out of his bedroom within ten minutes of him going to bed. He yanked awake from one of those dreams that felt like he was falling and he looked into the darkness, his eyes adjusting to the figure that stood, peaking out of the hallway.

"Mikey?" he asked. Mikey pitterpattered forward, long and spindly feet making suctiony noises against the floor of the apartment, over to him.

"What is it, Mikey?" he asked, rubbing his eyes. Mikey shimmyed himself closer to Pete, getting under the covers with him before looking up apologetically. "Sorry, it's hard to sleep without you," he said, feeling sheepish. He blushed, burying his face into Pete's naked chest.

"S'okay," Pete said, his bones warming with Mikey's words. He was useful to him. the man he loved needed him for something. He kissed his forehead, Mikey having already fallen asleep. He smiled, wider as he felt his stupid drool on his bare chest and light snores against his skin. He hugged him to his chest, completely and totally in love with someone he had met a week ago. But it was something so simple and so expected.

He knew it when he met him. He definitely owed Frank one. In a weird, twisted way. He was the reason Mikey was so sad, but he was the only reason they were brought together, and a reason of why they could be torn apart within a blink of an eye. Pete never wanted Mikey Way away from him, he never wanted to let him go ever again, for any amount of time. Mikey was going to be his, if it killed him. If he had to kill for him. He would do it, he had done it before. He had killed for much less, he had killed for money, for power. But he had never killed for love, but love was the most potent thing that he had. Mikey was his to protect, his to defend and hold and love. He had to fulfill his duty to him. He had to make sure that he was safe.

They had quite a weird relationship. Pete was a bottom, but he was also the one that did all the holding. They were bizarre like that, he assumed.

Mikey tightened his grip around Pete subconsciously. His heartbeat was warm against his chest, pounding, steady and never stopping, never changing, eternal. It gave Pete a rush to be with him in such an intimate setting like this, it seemed to hold so much more than just holding him, half naked. It was the reminder that he was actively making Mikey okay. It was a reminder to him that Mikey was okay. He took his fingers, playing with Mikey's hair. His lips mashed against Pete's body, slowly pulsating with a bit of breath on his body every few moments.

He loved Mikey, right off the bat he had loved Mikey, he loved him like he had never loved anything, or anyone before and it was amazing and new and painful to him. Frank would not be happy, but what did he expect? And he could only guess Gerard's mixed emotions. Would he be happy for his brother's happiness or would he be upset with the fire that the two were playing with? Would he be scared that Mikey would be hurt? The dark made him want to expel the bad thoughts and just sleep.

Pete sighed to himself, a big sleepy breath, snuggling closer to Mikey, legs so long his feet hung off the couch even as he cuddled into Pete and Pete, engulfed by his heat, so potent it was almost uncomfortable.

He loved the feel of Mikey's skin on him, he loved the fact that he was human and he was there and there were possibilities for them given by the all allusive fates that seemed to exist to fuck with Pete. He was grateful for him, he had to make sure he was. Because if he wasn't, then everything would go to shit and where would they be then? Alone. And he didn't want to be alone. He didn't want to look back on the precious time the spent together after a big tragedy and he didn't want to have squandered that time without Mikey Way being in his arms in the best condition possible.

He knew that something bad would happen, and that something bad would happen if he wasn't careful and if he wasn't sneaky around Mikey. He had to watch his tongue and keep his secret. Or else everything would be immeasurably terrible. And knowing how fast and how bad he screwed things up, this would happen fairly soon. He really didn't want to regret anything and if he didn't do everything he could to make Mikey love him and happy than he was definitely doing something regrettable.

He just wanted Mikey to love him as much as he did to him. And that would take some time, and take some trust, and take a lot of work on Pete's part.

And a lot of fucking secrecy.

 

 

 

 

 


	12. Reaching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is totally not just almost porn for half of the chapter. I swear there is plot here. Somewhere.

Pete was still tired, apparently Mikey was a sleep kicker. In the week before that he spent with him he had never showed any signs once, but now that he could afford a more animated sleep, he did it wholeheartedly. So he spent all the night while Mikey slept fine being brutally beat up by a person he had seen as so precious only an hour or so before. He also cried. God, he cried.

He had sobbed for hours in his sleep, so desperate Pete thought about waking him up, but the bags under his eyes seemed to lead him to not do so. He just held him and felt terrible, because he had attributed to the pain.

He had withheld information on Frank and Gerard. Mikey just wanted to find him, he just wanted to save his brother. He didn't even know that Gerard didn't need saving. Frank might, but that could only come from God, he was so far gone.

Pete wiped his face, looking at Mikey, so chipper and running around, much too early in the morning. Mikey smiled at him, sloppy and bright, pulling on pants. A new shirt was already on him and he looked showered.

“What's got you so excited?” Pete asked, rubbing his neck and propping himself up on his elbow. Sleeping on a couch with a person like Mikey Way was brutal. He wished he had climbed into Mikey's soft bed instead of squeezing together with him on the couch.

“Armani might have some leads on Gee,” he said, smiling even wider. He had slept well, Pete thought bitterly.

Pete smiled back, completely fake. He was worried that they were getting closer to them, he would have to warn them. Not like they would leave. They would never leave that place, they were way too happy there.

Pete yawned again, turning to bury his face in the arm of the couch. He didn't want to wake up yet. Sleep was better than the cold light streaming through the windows.

“Hey, go sleep in my bed, babe,” Mikey suggested, leaning down to kiss his forehead and pull his shoes on.

Pete dug his head gently into the couch again, eyes shutting tighter. He didn't want to move. And what was twenty more minutes on the couch? Nothing much more in terms of pain. “No, no, it's alright. Don't wanna move,” he yawned again, feeling Mikey's hand on his shoulder.

“Come on, you'll get hurt if you don't, baby,” he said, hand trailing on his neck.

Pete liked the toxic way he said 'baby' in that sweet little voice of his. It made him feel like he was worth something. Like he meant something, at least to Mikey.

He smiled, tired and happy and just a little stubborn before cracking an eye at him.

Mikey looked down at him, his own eyes teasing and amused. They didn't speak, just staring with affection and a bit of harmless, mock judging.

It was apparently so funny to the ecstatic Mikey and the sleepy Pete that they both chuckled, closing their eyes and looking away from each other. But not so soon after that exchange Pete was being dragged to Mikey's soft and familiar bed. The sheets were dirty and his laptop lay amongst the mess.

Pete was glad that it was messy, it meant that he was sleeping, or at least resting. He deserved to be able to sleep well at night, sleep at all.

Mikey pushed him, throwing his phone after him, watching as Pete stumbled onto the bed, sleep trying to cling at his skin, hard to walk.

He let out a soft “Eugh,” of death, flopping onto the bed. Mikey softly laughing at him as he watched Pete curl into his blanket.

Pete looked at Mikey, the light shining on his head and making his hair just a little bit golden. He loved him and with the look Mikey was giving him, he nearly loved him, too.

“I love you,” he said, suddenly more serious. After he said it, he knew he shouldn't have. Mikey couldn't have handled that. He had made it clear last night.

Mikey's smile faltered and his legs wobbled like he was ready to run away. Pete knew that he said something wrong.

“Sorry, you don't have to say it back. Just, um, go get your brother,” Pete said, smiling, a little bit sadly as he looked at him leaving, guilt in his eyes. He seemed less happy himself.

He shouldn't have said it, but it would have ripped him apart if he didn't.

Mikey didn't have to love him, he didn't want him to. He didn't deserve it, he didn't deserve him.

And obviously, he didn't want to have to leave on short notice and leave him like that again. He didn't want something to happen, Mikey find out the secret and get hurt more than he should.

Hell, he should keep his own distance. He had too much to lose.

Something bad could happen and he'd end up alone and a fuck up. He didn't want to lose Mikey, but if distance made him safer, he would attempt it.

He didn't want to fucking do it. He didn't want to have to have his boundaries up. He wanted to love him. He wanted Mikey to love him. But it was not wise.

It felt stupid, risking all of this just to get scared and retreat. Maybe he should just go home.

A stab went through his chest. He reminded himself that he was also doing this to keep an eye on the case and how it was going. He was keeping an eye on Mikey and that was it.

He could keep it buisness.

He sighed, dialing Frank's number to update him. This was the smartest way to do it, when Mikey wasn't home, so there was no risk of him hearing. He was going to be insanely careful with this.

“Hey, Frank,” he said into it, a sigh and some scuffling on the other end.

“Hey, Pete. How's it going?” he asked.

Pete could tell that all the casual talk of the friends they were would be pushed aside in moments so he answered him, pleasantries and formalities for only a moment before they got to business.

“Good, good. How are you?” he asked, abiding by the rules of society. He didn't quite mind. He kind of missed his friend. He kind of missed Portland, really. But Mikey was here, and Mikey was his job right now.

He was worried about his business. It was a delicate thing, that had a lot of worth riding on it and he couldn't get sloppy. He had to have someone he trusted taking care of it while he was with Mikey, however long that might be.

“I'm, uh good,” he said, the static of his voice being interrupted for a moment by another voice, Gerard. Which was the only one it could be.

“Yeah? How's Gee? How's Portland for you?” he asked, a smile on his face. This all felt so normal to him, like he was just talking to a regular friend with a regular boyfriend. Not a serial killer with another serial killer boyfriend.

“He's great. He loves it here, it's so terrific. God, the boy gets coffee like he isn't a fugitive,” he said, the sound of him kissing Gerard translating itself over the phone. Pete envied their love for each other, a love Mikey could never have for him.

But he couldn't think about that, Getting sad meant getting silent, he couldn't do that. He had a lot to talk about with Frank.

Pete wrinkled his nose, he hated the sound of people kissing. “Yeah, so, um, I was thinking, actually, like just now, how would you like to help me while I'm gone?” he said, looking out the window at the nice day. It was still cold, getting colder, some frost on the lovely grass and the leaves brittle and falling.

“With what?” Frank asked, having stopped showing affection to Gerard.

“Um, watch over, like, my drug thing for a while. Just while I'm gone,” he said. He knew that he wouldn't say no, he owed him. But he was still scared of how he would reply.

“Sure!” that was the enthusiastic part of the answer. But then there was the more hesitant part. “But are you sure I'm cut out for it?” he asked.

“Yeah, basically, you'll just relay all of my commands to my guys and watch over shipments and shit,” he said. It was actually pretty easy when he boiled it down.

“Oh, okay. So like, when do I start?” he asked.

“Well, I'll send you a schedule, I'll give you the number for my second in command and the address for the place we work from. It's actually really like a business,” he said, reflecting on it for himself, a moment of such simplicity he felt cheated. He had spent years building it up and perfecting it and now, looking back, it was all so easy. It was all so simple, something he felt that was so complex once was explainable in a few phrases.

“Oh, okay. Easy enough. Cool. So how is Mikey?” he asked. He approached it with casualty, like he was asking about Pete's boyfriend and nothing more. Not a melodramatic something that was related to the man Frank had so soiled in the eyes of the world. No, just a boyfriend. Pete wished.

“Good, good. Fuck, he's really happy I'm back. Thank you, for that, by the way,” he said, smiling to himself about the good fortune and the generosity of Frank.

Because it was generosity, it was Frank saying that it was okay that he was risking all of their situations to be with someone he loved. But it didn't come without the perk of spying.

“So, what'd he find? Frank asked. Pete sighed, closing the view of the morning and the people, so early and eager out of bed and down the street. Mikey was one of those people.

“He's going to see Armani for leads on where you guys are,” he said. He scratched th back of his neck, tentative.

“Cool, update me on that and get me that info for the business stuff,” Frank reminded him.

As Pete shuffled around Mikey's room, looking for the correct stuff, having hung up on Frank, Frank was talking to his lover.

He was retelling to him what Pete had told him, stroking his hair and looking down at his worried expression with calming eyes in their bedroom, tinted a deep black blue with the earliness of it all.

Gerard yawned, taking one hand and absentmindedly scratching it across his face, nudging into the calloused palm. Frank didn't object, just went on talking and petting the other side of his face with his other hand.

“So, Mikey is going to meet Armani and he is going to talk about where you are. So if they know where we are, we have to leave,” he said. He hated the idea of it, the idea of moving away from here, it was a place he loved, it was a place he wanted to stay for as long as possible. He wasn't going to let anyone ruin that, but he had to look out for Gerard.

“No,” Gerard whined, drawling it out longer than just two letters. He humphed against Frank's hand, pouting.

“I know, baby. But Mikey's happy,” he gave to him, knowing that that would be good for him.

He perked up at that. “Pete's making him happy?” he asked, his eyes alight. He always loved talking about his brother. Maybe it was the fact that he wasn't around him anymore that made him so keen on the subject.

“Yeah, Pete's making him really happy,” Frank said, smiling down at an even wider smiling Gerard.

“That's great,” Gerard said, so happy that his brother had been given the opportunity to love someone as he had, and have it be so much more innocent.

There was no fall out when it came to Pete and Mikey, and if there was any Mikey would know what to do. With the sorrow, he had faced it before, he knew what to do. Even if it was lying in bed and crying for a few weeks. He was strong now, even if he didn't have anyone besides Pete.

There was no liability with Pete and Mikey because they weren't as troubled as Frank and Gerard. They were guarded. They were sane. They were normal, no matter how abnormal their situation was.

Frank and Gerard were absolutely batshit, so they would stick together as much as they could. They were all each other had.

Mikey had himself. Mikey didn't need anyone. Gerard needed Frank.

And that was the reason that Mikey was safe with Pete, and Gerard and Frank were fine in themselves.

“Yeah, but Pete think he's going to try to find us,” Frank said, fingers twirling his red hair, still hard to get used to but so damn sexy.

“So?” Gerard asked. He was the one that wasn't so caught up with getting caught. Definitely not like Frank was. But Frank was the killer, he was the one that was really on the run, Gerard was just along for the ride.

"So?" Frank demanded of him, pissed of he was taking this so lightly. Did he really know what this meant, or what this could mean? "Mikey is either going to find out and we have to count on Pete to deter him from that thinking, or he is going to get determined," Frank explained.

Gerard looked thoughtful for a moment, fingers on Frank's hand as he played with it like a toy.

"So, this is bad because he's really started looking for us?" Gerard asked him, biting his lip at the prospect.

"Yes! If he doesn't find us soon, he'll find us later," he said with a sigh. He just wanted to be happy with Gerard, he just wanted to love him and be free to love him. But no, he was a killer, a criminal.

Fuck, they both were. He was afraid people would catch on.

"Distract him," Gerard said, out of the blue and taking Frank out of his own thoughts.

"What?" he asked, still stuck to the idea that they would be found out soon. He was bitter about that, he was terrified of that.

He wanted Gerard forever, to be his forever, to stay his forever. He didn't want anyone to ruin that. But there was the now unspoken rule that he shouldn't and would never kill or hurt Mikey Way.

"We have to distract Mikey from looking for me. If we, like, send another threat or something, or ask for the money, or show him that I'm hurt or something," he said with a shrug. This conversation was all too casual for what he was insinuating.

"That means I have to hurt you," Frank said, licking his lips and looking down at Gerard again.

Gerard looked up at him and he knew exactly what he was saying, and his eyes showed it. Gerard gulped, and suddenly the room felt colder, darker, smaller, quieter.

"You've done it before," and Frank wanted to die.

Because he had. He had hurt him and he had done it with something of a pleasure. He had hurt him badly before he got arrested and he had hurt him in so many other ways.

But if it was different now. It was different because Gerard was all he had. And he was terrified of losing him. Gerard had options now.

He could go home and he could forget about Frank and be none the wiser. He could go home if Frank hurt him and he was terrified of that fact.

"What are you so scared of?" he asked him.

Everything seemed to go slower. Frank felt the weight of Gerard's head on his lap, something temporary, something that could be removed.

Gerard could walk away from him at any whim. But Frank couldn't walk away, he didn't want to walk away. He wouldn't. He was bound to Gerard, much more than Gerard was to him.

"I'm scared you'll leave me," Frank said, truthful to Gerard. He looked down, quickly casting his face to look to Gerard's who was surprised.

His eyes were wide, innocent and watching Frank's face, studying the lines and curves and jagged folds of all his skin.

His fingers, tentative and pale and quivering, found their way to Frank's. The palms met like electric. These were the hurt ones, the ones that Frank in his stupidity and symbolism met together as one, mingling their blood and connecting them.

It was rough against him and it was a reminder. This was what Gerard was doing, he was reminding him. He was telling him of their promise.

"Forever," Frank said, rasping and hollow. The word held so much for him it was devoid of anything beyond nothing.

Gerard smiled at him, glad that he got it. "Forever," he agreed.

Frank shut his eyes, slow and loving, staring at him. They would have to get started on their campaign of distraction.

 

"What are you doing to my fucking brother?!" Mikey asked, hand kneading into Pete's, who was sitting, watching guiltily.

Frank was smirking, Gerard sitting next to him, bruised and tired. He kept rearing his head and Frank kept slapping him for moving.

But Gerard couldn't help it, he had been drugged. He had no idea of what was really going on.

"Gee?" Mikey asked, holding the screen frantically, desperately trying to get his brother to hear him.

"M-mikey?" he asked, voice sluggish and hopeful.

Both Pete and Frank suffered in guilt, Frank's more internally as he slapped his lover again.

"Don't talk, bitch," he chastised, arms folding over themselves, scowling at Gerard who just lolled his head forward.

Frank had given him a mix of something he had found at Pete's headquarters. He was pretty sure it was a low dose of roofies. Or maybe just a weird type of sleeping pill.

Anyway, he got lucky, it added to the fact that Gerard was being mistreated. Drugs would do the trick of menacing well.

"Mikey, where are you?" Gerard whimpered. He was a good actor, drugged or not. He remembered what was going on.

"I'm coming, Gee," he said, looking even more guilty than Pete sat beside him.

If he didn't wipe that look off his face he would get them in big trouble. He would blow their entire cover.

"Mikey, I'm scared. He's gonna-he's gonna kill me," he said, breath ragged.

For a moment Frank was ready to kill the son of a bitch that would ever lay a hand on Gerard, till he realized that it was him and that it was supposed to be fake.

Gerard had been bruised, skin and face filled with contusions that would last weeks. His lip was busted, eye was black. And he had multiple, artfully placed cuts on him.

He looked like he had just gotten beat up. And if Frank didn't feel guilty as hell he would feel horny as hell.

Gerard looked up at him, eyes wide and pleading. He didn't really like the drug thing. But Frank thought it was a nice touch. iT made him look like he was really being abused by Frank.

And that was what they wanted.

But Mikey looked terrified as he watched his brother, not even knowing that he was faking it.

It was blatant on Pete's face that he knew, he totally knew that this was all a hoax. Gerard was okay and Frank wasn't really the bad guy.

But he was, he was the bad guy. He was the worse guy. Even if he didn't do this to Gerard he was still terrible, he didn't want to be. He just was. It was who he was, it was in his blood. And it was terrible, but it was him. And Gerard loved him. All his flaws and bad blood.

"I'm gonna get you, Gee. I'm gonna save you," Mikey said. He wiped his eyes, Oh God, he was starting to cry.

This was bad, this was when they all would break. Not Frank, of course that was because he hated Mikey. But Pete and Gerard loved him.

They would be the ones to break. Gerard would falter, Pete would give them away.

But no, he just held him, Mikey, staring blank-eyed and stiff at Gerard, crying more at the sight of his brother, eyes droopy.

Frank scowled at him, holding Gerard's hair, yanking it so he stretched his neck further. God, he hated hurting him. His eyes looked so wild, confused.

"You're not gonna get the bitch back. He's mine now, Mikey. You get me my money, or kiss your brother goodbye," he said, holding his pocket knife up to Gerard's throat.

There was the roar of the murder in his ears, telling him to do it, spill the blood. Kill the victim. Murder. Murder. Murder.

God, he didn't even care if it was Gerard anymore, he just wanted to kill, someone. Anyone under the knife. He became a machine when he killed, when he was about to.

The adrenaline would pulse till the kill was finished, then it would pulse some more, lasting him till he killed again.

He wanted to kill, not Gerard, just someone. And that someone happened to be Gerard.

Gerard's eyes went to him, scared and pleading. He wasn't acting anymore. Frank wasn't either. And that terrified him.

He looked to Mikey, sick looking and blanched. He wasn't breathing. He was just staring at his brother, catatonic.

Pete held him, the concerned lover face on him, not acting.

This wasn't a game anymore and if Frank didn't get the knife away from Gerard soon there wouldn't be a game to play.

He didn't want to kill his baby, he didn't want to hurt his one true love. He would die. He would kill himself.

He would murder him, one day, he knew he would. He would destroy him, like everything else. It was just a matter of time. And he would have to push him away.

But they were in too deep. Gerard was all he had and he didn't ever want to hurt him. He wanted to keep him, forever, safe and happy and.

He took the knife away. The steel glistening like a smirk. It knew what they did with it. It was mocking them.

It was mocking him.

It was telling him he was weak, he was a hypocrite. He had pledged his love with it, given Gerard the freedom of God. It was laughing in his face.

He put it in his pocket, cold and still mocking. He looked back at Mikey, eyes blank and menacing.

"Get me my money, Way. Or you won't have a fucking brother to save," he said, turning off the web call to Mikey.

He left him speechless and with Pete comforting him.

He moved away from the computer, putting his head in his hands. He was so dirty, he was tainted and nasty. He was impure.

Gerard had made him feel pure, but now he was disgusting. He had reminded him it was disgusting.

"Hey, baby, come here," Gee said, recognizing that Frank was upset, took him into his arms, drugs still working in his system, such a small dose it was wearing off when he took it.

Frank cried, teeth clenched and body shivering. He moved into Gerard's body, melding himself into him. He could forget himself in Gerard. He could be pure in Gerard.

"Baby, come on. It's okay, I'm not hurt," he said, hands connecting over the huddle of his distressed body.

It was warm against Gerard's skin. It was dark in the crevice of his soft body. He was so lucky to have Gerard. To be able to melt into Gerard.

"I could. I could hurt you, you are so fragile. You're so small," Frank started to wash his hands against Gerard's bare skin. His eyes melded, wide and hurt and offended by himself, in awe of Gerard's beauty.

He was so soft and pale and pure.

"Shh, baby I trust you," he said, watching Frank with love, with trust and affection and patience and everything that Frank didn't deserve.

"I don't trust myself," he said, a shivering and rickety breath going through his chest and down his spine.

Gerard looked, sickly sweet and rotting, hands rubbing his back, soothing.

"I love you. I trust you. I need you. I give you permission to destroy me," he said.

Another thing that made Frank's insides burn. He didn't want to have consent to destroy. He didn't want to destroy Gerard at all. He didn't want it to be premeditated.

"Shut up, Gerard. You have no clue what you're talking about," Frank said, pushing him away and standing in their new bedroom.

He left Gerard on the bed, staring at him, expectant and loving. He was okay with everything Frank did, blindly following like a puppy.

"I love you. It would be an honor to be destroyed by you," Gerard said.

They had had this conversation before. And Frank had hated it then. And he hated it now.

He scoffed, sitting down on the floor. He wanted to be as far away from Gerard. He didn't want to taint him. He didn't want to contaminate his baby. He was radioactive and the

Gerard went to speak again and Frank held up a finger to silence him. "Don't speak, just, please. You're not helping," he said, head in his hands.

"Sorry," Gerard said in melancholy acceptance.

Frank sighed, looking at him through his hands. "I just... don't want to hurt you. I need you. I would die if anything happened to you, even by me," he said, taking another breath. Like he couldn't get enough oxygen.

"That's okay. We're okay," Gerard said, little teeth showing as he smiled at him, wide and hopeful.

Frank returned it with closed, upturned lips, in love with everything Gerard did but tired. He was so tired.

Tired with himself, with his existence. With everything that he ever fucking did.

Gerard scooched down to the floor, tentatively looking at him with soft and reproachful eyes.

He traveled to Frank, watching him. He sat in front of him, grabbing his hands with his.

His thumbs started a circle on him, soothing as he looked into his eyes.

"Don't leave me," he begged, eyes boring into Frank's.

Bang, bang, bang against Frank's head, taking over his thoughts so the only thing that was in his head was the hazel of Gerard's eyes and the soft curling of his lashes like cursive handwriting.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Frank said, truthfully.

He would die without Gerard. He couldn't believe he had ever lived without him ever before. He didn't know what he would do if Gerard left him.

He needed him to survive, like death and his ego. He needed him like a sunrise.

Gerard was the only thing that was keeping him in any semblance of sanity. He was the only thing that Frank could ever love.

Gerard was special, because he made Frank feel like he could be soft. He felt like he could be human when Gerard was in his arms. Gerard made him human.

Or at least human enough to love.

Gerard twisted their fingers together, staring at his lover in such a way that made Frank suspicious he was stealing his soul.

The break of the scabs, hurting with the touch, on their palms was reminder that Frank was alive and Frank was in love.

He took a shaky breath, staring at Frank with a lovingly blank face.

"Promise?" he said, purposefully hurting the wounds further.

"I promise," Frank said, blank and imploring of Gerard, watching him.

They had a connection when things got rough, they had this thing where they would just connect and that would mend them, strengthen them. Like solar energy. Like they were each other's suns.

Gerard looked more desperate as he entered closer to Frank's enclosed space.

"Tell me you love me," he said, eyes wild.

Now Gerard was the one breaking down. He was the one that needed the confirmation. He needed Frank, he needed him as much as Frank needed him.

"I love you. Like sunlight and flowers. You are my stars. You are the only thing to brighten my world. And I love you," he said, holding Gerard closer.

He could see the faint scar that his knife left, just an imprint, irritated and red on his skin, just a bit.

He put his finger on it, tracing it, feeling it, pulling on the skin so it becomes distorted and unnatural.

Gerard was looking at him. His lips were soft and plump and moving across his own teeth as he stared. His tongue darted out to touch his lips, like a mouse teasing a cat.

Frank kissed him, gentle and touching, mind exploding in the simplicity of it.

He loved Gerard so much, too much for him to even comprehend. Every touch, every word made him feel like he was worth something, that he was making a difference. Gerard made him feel like no other person had made him feel before. And every feeling, no matter how bad was amazing.

Gerard made him human, Gerard made him sane. Gerard made him bright.

He pushed his fingers against Gerard's skin, his cheeks, red and bright. He touched his neck, opening his lips and sticking his tongue inside.

Gerard made a soft noise in the back of his throat, letting Frank caress his mouth with his tongue, soft and immortal. If they kept touching like this, they could last forever.

Frank loved the sound that Gerard made, every single syllable of his pleasure was a treasure. Frank was a fucking pirate.

He coaxed more whimpers out of him, little licks around the inside of his mouth as he moved around inside, feeling him more than he ever had before.

He would be gentle tonight, he would make him feel good. To make up for the fact that he was a terrible person. He would be a good lover.

Gerard deserved it, Gerard deserved someone that was as beautiful as him. He didn't need the parasite that was Frank.

He needed someone glorious, someone amazing.

No one was good enough for Gerard, no one would ever be, so Frank tried to be. He tried to be good for him. Tried to be his best for him.

Because Gerard deserved more than Frank could ever give him but it was alright, because Frank would give him everything three times over gladly.

Gerard made another noise, low and beautiful. He was an ethereal creature.

Frank lapped inside of him, plump lips on Gerard's, wet and softly biting.

Gerard went to hold at any handle of Frank's body, falling apart just with the kissing. He wouldn't last through morning.

"Frankie, I love you," he says, he says it like he's begging. Like he's pleading to God. He says it through teeth and through kissing so it's muffled but it's all Frank needs.

He goes closer into Gerard, taking his back in his hands and moving them as he presses him closer to his body.

Gerard whimpers, Frank disconnecting their lips to feel at his neck.

It was one of Frank's favorite parts of his body. It was soft and meaty there, but when Gerard moved his neck just right, Frank could feel the power and the sinew against his lips. It was pale and ripe for bruising. And it drove Gerard insane.

So Frank sucked on it, taking skin between his teeth and feeling on it for a moment before thinking it adequate for his lips. He gorged himself on the salty sweetness of Gerard's skin against his lips and in his teeth.

Gerard made a noise, low in his throat that was slightly alarming. He sounded like he was dying.

Frank looked at him, neck back and throat open for him to kiss. His Adams apple bobbed as he took gulping breaths, vulnerable to Frank and totally blissed out by it. He was pale and waiting for Frank to do his worse.

And he couldn't be more turned on by it.

Frank smiled, coming up to place his head right under Gerard's chin. He went for his skin, hands steadying themselves on his chest, covered in clothes still.

“Frankie, please,” Gerard panted in his scratchy, high pitched voice. He looked down at Frank who smiled devilishly up.

Gerard's eyes were filled with pleading, bright and sparkling with need and electricity.

Frank smiled wider, going back down to kiss on him, filling the rooms with his moans. He forgot all about the knife in his pocket, jangling in his jeans as he pulled Gerard onto him.

Gerard gasped and gripped at his hair and Frank smiled against his slick and awaiting skin.

 


	13. Monstrosity (In Love)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andddd it wouldn't get to the update page for the longest time and I cried while writing this. Also it's terrible because it's the start of summer and my mom wants to do a bunch of stuff.

Frank lit a cigarette as was custom to after sex antics of the two lovers. Gerard lay spent on the bed, having been given an overload of sensation. He was asleep. He was vulnerable. His chest was a rise and fall like the tides.

Frank had probably given him six hours worth of an insane orgasm. Like it was a goodbye, like it was an ode to Gerard.

He took a drag, feeling the burn on his lungs as the smoke curled tenaciously around inside of him. He looked to Gerard, eyelashes thick against his cheeks, face crumpled and relaxed. His back was exposed and pale in the soft light streaming through the window.

His hands were jammed under the pillows and his lips cracked slowly with a breath of air. He was tired, exhausted.

He had fallen asleep the minute they stopped having sex. Frank had made him come nearly eight times before he even got to take care of himself. Then he went more with Gerard. He wanted to give him everything. He wanted to give him as much as possible. He wanted to explore his insides and feel him, he wanted to pay tribute to his angelic body.

It was, in a way. He had to reward him. Frank was a terrible lover. They both knew that. God, he wanted to kill his lover. But he didn't want to think about that.

He didn't want to think about the end. He especially didn't want to think about the end of Gerard. Not when there were the floodgates that came with that line of thinking.

Frank kept thinking back to the video call, what he did to Gerard, what he wanted to do to Gerard that was something he saved for the unfortunate.

But they were happy. They were happy and he didn't want to fuck it up. But it was in his nature.

He had wanted to kill, to hurt, Gerard ever since they first met. It would be so easy, he was Oh So fragile. Gerard was so small compared to Frank, he was so gentle and thin. He was so small.

The slide of a knife against his skin would be so instant, so quick and glorious and beautiful. Frank could make him beautiful, Frank could make him perfect. Then maybe Frank could be perfect. Just for a little while.

He would be like Natalie. He could join Natalie and all the other people Frank had killed. He had killed so many people. He could kill one more. What was one more?

A lover was one more.

Frank could let him go. He could let him leave but that was an option that he could not comprehend.

It was him, he was selfish. His lover was absolutely the opposite. Gerard was selfless and he would go without qualms. Not a bang, but a whimper.

He did not want Gerard to die. He wanted Gerard, to love, to hold. He loved him so much that it would destroy them both. Because it had. It had destroyed Frank already. And it would soon go onto Gerard.

He tried to say that he was doing this for Gerard, that he would slit his throat and bleed him dry and fill him with sunshine and his love. He would kill him for his love, with his love. He would smother him if he had to, if he wanted to. He could do it. He was so fragile.

He could be the coffin. Gerard would be the martyr. Gerard would go down and history and he would fade away.

He would be the coffin. He would be the minuscule. He would sacrifice himself for Gerard

But he really wasn't. He was selfish. He was terrible. He was disgusting. Gerard was so beautiful. He was glorious and amazing and he was much too good for Frank.

He was the coffin, he was the hammer and nails. He was the mausoleum. He was a nothing. He was the coffin.

But then where does that leave Frank? Filled with something decaying till he was hollow again. He was hollow now. Killing seemed to make him whole for a few short moments. If he killed Gerard, and he wanted to kill Gerard, more than ever, he would have to kill himself. He would have killed, in turn the love of his life, but the only thing that had been a part of Frank and pure.

Frank was not pure, but Gerard was, and he loved Frank, so Frank became pure through him. He wanted to be pure. But it was his nature to kill, to desecrate everything that was good. Gerard was good, Gerard was pure. And Gerard was his.

He picked up the pillow, a weapon he had never used before. He examined it, white, a little damp with sweat from Frank's hair. It smelled like him and Gerard. It smelled like their love.

He looked at the cut on his hand that meant infinity. He was disgusted by what he was going to do to Gerard. He was going to kill him. He was going to hurt him and he was going to make him ugly. Frank wasn't good enough for him.

He could just wake him up and tell him to leave. That would be better for Gerard. He would live. Obviously, Frank would die. If he didn't have Gerard he would just have to kill himself. There was no future beyond Gerard. There was nothing beyond Gerard because there was nothing better than Gerard.

He had to let him go. He had to set him free. Like a little bird. Gerard was a bird. Gerard would be a free bird.

But Frank was much too selfish to let him go. The cut on his hand hurt as he put it back on the pillow.

That cut meant forever. But Frank was always a hypocrite.

He shook his head, staring down at the cut some more. But this was forever. Obviously, Gerard would be forever if Frank killed him. If he had no true end he would never die. He would be immortal. Frank would make him immortal.

So the cut was forever. Frank was honoring his lover. He was giving him something that his physical body could never do. He was giving him peace, he was giving him a legendary status. He was making him more than human.

He was more than human already. He was a god, he was an angel. His skin was pale and icy looking. He was gorgeous and his hair laid around his face in such a glorious array. He was something much more than this world.

Frank was the devil. He was the hammer. Jesus Christ, he was the coffin. Gerard would become the true archangel.

Frank could love him from hell. He could love him forever. He would love him forever f he just died tonight.

He looked from his hand to his lover, to the most beautiful thing he ever had the chance to love, the chance to kill.

Gerard was so peaceful. He didn't even realize what Frank was going to do. He was unaware to everything. He could die in his sleep and he could be okay. They would be okay.

“I love you,” Frank breathed into the night, not even wanting Gerard to hear, just wanting to tell it to himself, telling himself that this was alright. That Gerard would be alright, Gerard would immortal. Gerard was his to burn, his to hurt. Because he loved him. He took a breath, having no breath in his lungs to go to his brain, to his beating heart.

The suspense of what was happening to the lovers was enough to make Frank forget how to survive in the most basic of terms. He could barely wrap his head around what he was about to do. Let alone still exist.

God, Frank barely knew what he was doing. He knew that he was killing him. That he was going to kill him. But he didn't really know why. He was still trying to justify it to himself. He was still trying to wrap his head around that. Around this.

He just knew that he had to do it. That he wanted to do it. He had been born to kill and he had been born to kill Gerard.

He was an artist. More than Gerard was. Gerard was his canvas. He was a performance artist. This was his piece on love and destruction. He felt pretentious. But as the scholars said and Frank was soon to find out, the art survived the artist.

Well, he was an artist even more because he was selfish. He was terribly, terribly selfish. And the pillow seemed to agree with him. There was no sounds beyond the sound of Gerard breathing.

It was the gorgeous soundtrack to Frank's own destructive self. It was something that would not be going on past the morning.

He felt the potency of what he was going to do. Gerard was going to die. And after Gerard was dead. He was going to die. He was going to kill both of them.

Death was something so casual to him now. He didn't even mind that his lover was dying, and at his hands. Everything was the same. Death was the same. Death was everything. Frank was everything. No, no, no, Gerard was everything. Soon, at least. Gerard would become everything. But not if Frank had another option.

He could kill him and he could save him. But he could kill himself and save him. They could part ways. But those last two things were far too selfless for Frank to do. He did not want to let him go, he just wanted to smother him. If he was going to drown, Gerard was going to drown.

He reminded himself, he would die because Frank loved him. Wasn't that a lovely way to go?

He could wake him up, kick him out. He could make everything okay. He could isolate himself and save Gerard. He didn't want to save Gerard. He just wanted both of them to drown.

Because he knew that no matter what he could never be saved. He knew that not even Gerard could save him. He hated himself.

He wanted to cry as he stuck it up to his face. He wanted to cry because he would never be as good as Gerard, he would never deserve Gerard because killing was in his nature. It was in his blood and he could never have him as close as he wanted him. He wasn't pure enough for Gerard.

He was beginning to realize how Pete felt. He was beginning to realize that what he had gotten into, and what he had pulled Gerard into was more than him. It was more than the both of them.

He was walking on a dangerous tightrope, Gerard being the fall. He would die on that fall. And once he was dead, the fall wold seize to exist. The danger would seize to exist.

He would destroy them both in one fell swoop, but Gerard had to be the bough to break. He had to be the first to go.

It would destroy Frank, but right now it had Frank destroying Gerard. And Frank swore that it was not him that took the pillow from his face and melded it to Gerard's. It wasn't his doing, it was just fate. And that was not his fault. Or at least that was what he tried to tell himself.

He was sleeping so peacefully, so quietly, breath even till Frank pressed the pillow into him, hot tears welling against his eyelids as he closed them, hating what he was and what he was doing.

He wished he had the extra hands to shut his ears because when Gerard woke up, the screams came.

“Frankie!” He yelled, muffled, arms flailing as he tried to grasp the situation. “Frankie, help me!” he yelled. Obviously, he didn't know that he was the one that was trying to kill him. He sobbed inside the pillow, flailing.

He wanted to save him. He wanted to be the one to come to his rescue. But he wasn't pure enough, he wasn't good enough. He was the coffin. He was the coffin. He was the coffin. He pressed harder against his face as Gerard struggled more.

His arms tried to fasten themselves around Frank, tearing at the skin with nails that had pulled at him for different reasons hours before. He wanted to go back and make love to him again. He wanted to love him again.

He was damned if he could go back now, so he situated his legs further onto Gerard's body, gorgeous and at one time his, pressing down. Gerard wasn't his anymore, he would be so much more than the both of them if he just died.

He was crying, tears falling down his cheeks as Gerard's body struggled under him. He loved him so much. He was so destructive. He loved him too much.

He knew that this was a bad idea from the start. He knew that he was going to kill him. It was supposed to be fun. Murder was fun. But not this. Not slaughter. Gerard was a lamb, he was a baby, he was to be protected by Frank.

But he failed him. He could not face him now. He was too ashamed to face him. He was disgusting. If Gerard didn't die, he would never be able to face him. He would have to go back to plan B. He would have to fall away and kill himself.

He missed him already. He missed his smile and his body and his hands. And he missed his love and his voice. He was crying so hard just remembering all the good things, remembering everything. He loved him so much it was ripping him apart.

He didn't deserve him. He never deserved him. He was much too good, always.

He was never pure, but Gerard was. And Frank loved to love him. It was an honor to love him.

He didn't want to kill him. He wanted to save him. That was what he tried to tell himself as he pressed down on his lover's face. He was saving him, he was making him immortal. But his screams said otherwise.

“Frankie!” he yelled again, blood curdling and terrified. He reached for the other side of the bed, wrenching his body as far away as he could. Frank pressed harder so he couldn't get away. His fingers were starting to hurt from being tangled in the pillow case. His eyes were drowning in the tears. He wished Gerard would die already. He didn't want to see him struggled like an ant under a magnifying glass anymore.

His body, writhing and wriggling and his screams. Oh, his screams. This scene would stain his mind for the rest of his life. And if Gerard died within the next few minutes there would be very little left to Frank's.

How romantic would that be? Gerard and him could be his last victim. A full circle revolt. He started it for fun and he ended it for love. He was the worst serial killer in America, he was the most potent performance artist.

He was a poet and he loved Gerard. Poetry was love. Poetry was destruction. He would be an author if it meant making Gerard immortal.

He tightened his legs around Gerard.

He wanted to love Gerard in ways that he deserved. Because he loved him to much to squander away the feeling. But here he was, pressing a pillow to his lover's face, his grip sliding as Gerard struggled to get away. Oh, he struggled.

Frank's grip slipped with Gerard jerking his body. Frank tried not to let his face move from beyond the pillow. But he did, face and body flying out the door and into the bathroom, but not before looking at Frank, slumped with a pillow in his hands, heavy breathing, hollow.

He ran faster, pattering down to the bathroom, heart racing. He didn't want to look back, he didn't want to see Frank following him. It would just terrify him more.

He couldn't believe what had just happened to him. He couldn't believe that Frank had done this to him.

He wanted to gag. It was making him sick, thinking of someone he trusted, someone he loved, hurting him. Mikey could never find out the truth. Because betrayal of someone you loved was something so sickening, so shocking and ever so disgusting.

He didn't want to think of Mikey in those moments, he didn't want to think of his guilt and his bad decisions. This plan, his plan, it didn't work out right and he should have known that it was never going to work between the two.

Frank was too destructive, he was too volatile and Gerard was much too trusting and all too hopeful. It wouldn't work out right, it hadn't worked out right.

He felt so stupid, he felt so terrified. He would have to call Pete, he would have to tell him what was wrong and hope that he would come to his rescue.

He felt at his throat, dry and relishing to the point of pain the air it got. He felt at all his mistakes, face cold with air finally coming back to fruition.

Frank could hear the sound of his betrayal after the bathroom door shut. Gerard sobbed, loud and panicked and terrified from beyond the hallway and in the bathroom.

His heart broke, beating hard and heavy inside his chest. Gerard didn't love him anymore, how could he love him? He was disgusting. He was a terrible person.

He should never have gotten together with Gerard. He should never have let himself love him. Of course it would end up in nothing but pain. Frank was pain, he was madness and impulses and destruction. Gerard didn't deserve the pain that Frank brought him.

His heart was ringing in his ears, telling him that he was okay and he was alive. His throat burned with new air, unfamiliar after only a little time. His vision was spotty and he felt like falling over, so he sat down, naked and sobbing and terrified of the person he was in love with.

Frank sat on their bed, his bed, a deathbed, naked and waiting for Gerard. But Gerard was not going to come and he knew it.

His vibrant lover would leave again, this time of his own volition. And maybe that was for the best. Of course that was for the best. Frank could die alone as the scum he was.

The door was shut and he could hear it, all the way. Ringing through his empty ears, beating hard with an even emptier heart. Gerard was alive and Frank was dying inside. Oh glorious day, oh brave new world.

He couldn't get the look of hurt out of his mind. It was burned into him, Gerard's eyes wide and scared and terrified. He had looked so terrified. Frank was even more breathless than Gerard, he didn't want to close his eyes. He didn't want to see the brink of extinction again. He didn't want to see the death of his lover, his hands were blackened. They were stained and Gerard was holed in the bathroom. He could not wash them.

He looked at the cut on his hand and he felt love. He felt nothing. He felt no hope. He felt desolation. He wanted to rip off all his skin and jump into someone else's. He didn't want to live anymore. He just wanted Gerard to be happy.

His priorities from moments ago seemed to have changed, as they do, when an impulse is met. Now he just wanted to keep Gerard safe. With his hands wrapped around his throat, oh the irony. Frank was a murderer, he loved irony.

Gerard was waiting in the bathroom, staring at the white door and whenever his eyelids closed he was cursed with the white pillow and a black future.

Frank was not his lover anymore, if that was obvious. He had made a terrible mistake to be with him. But love was blind and when you fell you lost your eyes. Now the only place Gerard was falling was onto asphalt face first.

Because Frank was terrifying. He was a murderer, he wasn't a person. Gerard hadn't fallen in love with a person. And for a while he did not know that. But he knew it now. He had fallen in love with a monster, and that is why they would never work out. That's why nothing they did could make this right and they had been so volatile.

 

“Gee?” Frank asked, knocking on the bathroom door. He wasn't answered with anything, so he jiggled the knob of the door. It was locked. Obviously. But it was worth the try.

“S-stay out!” Gerard said, voice shaky as he spoke to Frank in the most authoritative tone he could muster. He was shaken, to the core and he was hurt and he was angry. He just wanted to go to sleep and forget it, but he couldn't. Every time he blinked there were visions of darkness and choking and screaming and flailing.

He watched the door as he seemed to do for hours, choking with the terror of Frank coming through and finishing him off.

Frank had tried to hurt him. Tried to kill him. He was supposed to be loved by Frank. He was supposed to be protected by Frank. That was the biggest betrayal of all.

Was he not good enough? Was he not enough for Frank to love? Was he just like everyone else? Was he a game to be played? He wished his hate for him had lasted so his life wouldn't be ruined. He wished he hated him so he wouldn't feel so betrayed. He wasn't special, he was just like any other slaughter.

His past was fucked up so his future already was. He should have never fallen in love with Frank. He was an asshole from the beginning, he should have known that he never loved him.

But that was all gone now and he felt even more naked than actually was.

He was cold, having jumped out of sleep after making love. If love it was, with the new fact of Gerard's life being attempted by Frank. Maybe it was just a diversion, just something to make him tired enough so Frank could kill him.

He shuddered at the thought. Maybe everything was a lie. Maybe everything Frank did was just a big game to kill him. But why?

He didn't want to think about it. He didn't even want to entertain the thought that Frank could be anything but a caring lover. But here he was, true murderer in his form.

Gerard stared toward the door, shut in and waiting for Frank to come bursting through to finish him off.

“I'm gonna, baby. Okay? Won't hurt you,” he said in a soft coo. He dropped to his knees, sticking a hand under the door, giving it to Gerard who just kicked it away.

His tone put him on edge, it sounded like he was planning something.

“Keep out!” he repeated in a more firm tone. He wasn't fucking around. He didn't want to look at Frank, he would be sick if he did.

Frank just sat dejectedly against the door, as close to Gerard as possible. He deserved this. He deserved to be alienated by the one person he had ever wanted to keep safe.

If Gerard tried to kill Frank he would do that, too. He would be absolutely terrified. And he would be pissed.

But he just swallowed everything and built his hope up. He wanted him back, he wanted him to be safe, he wanted to be able to keep him safe.

“Not gonna hurt you, baby,” Frank said, taking his hand away from under the door. He looked at it, the skin was upset by the way Gerard hit it, flaking off at the knuckles.

“Fuck you, you piece of shit psychopath. What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asked, voice bitter and breaking on Frank's back. It hurt Gerard to say the words, to have to say the words, just as much as it hurt Frank to hear them.

He felt terrible, he felt ashamed. He was a monster. He was a killer. He was something so ungodly even Gerard didn't love him anymore.

Or, well, he didn't even ask. He was afraid to. He didn't even want to. He would never like the answer.

He just let his head hit against the door with a thump.

Gerard was inside the bathroom, hatred seething at the mess that was his lover. If he even wanted to call the man who smothered him with a pillow a few hours before that.

He felt betrayed. He felt terrified of his own skin. He felt vulnerable. He felt like Frank would come in and he would have to run away like they were in the fucking Shining.

He was on edge, sitting atop of the toilet for hours, naked and terrified. He wanted Frank to leave or fall asleep so he could make his escape. But he stayed outside the door, trapping him.

He wished he had a phone, he could call Mikey and Mikey could rescue him. He coul get away from there, he was starting to regret falling in love with a murderer.

He knew from the start that he would end up being the bullet hole and that Frank was the gun and all of the sanity rolled up that they had left would tear through and he would be left, ripped and raw and bleeding and fatal.

It was cold in the bathroom, sterile and terrifying. It was nice before, images of shower sex and steamy messages in the shower flooded his head. But that meant nothing now.

He could still feel the hot press of a pillow against his face, choking his mouth and clogging his airways with white fabric. He was terrified.

In that second he hated Frank. He knew he would only hate him till he saw him again but it was potent, tinted with rage and spite. He wanted nothing to do with him.

“Frank?” he asked the man who he knew was still outside the door, waiting like some parasite.

“Yes, darling?” he asked, voice more sickly sweet than ever in Gerard's ears, patronizing and disgusting. He hoped the words rotted away.

“You ruined my life,” Gerard spoke through gritted teeth. His voice was tainted with hatred and dripped with loathing. He wanted Frank to know that he hated him. Or maybe, he was trying to convince himself.

Although there had been an attempt on his life by none other than Frank, he still felt like he could love him. God, he wanted to love him.

He wanted them to be okay and he wanted to just kill without all the madness. He wanted to be happy. And the only person that could make him happy was Frank. Frank the killer, Frank his lover. Frank, the man he hated.

Everything was too entirely fucked for him to even wrap his head around it.

“I love you,” Frank said and Gerard wanted to kick him in the face.

But he just decided to push his boundaries. “Get me some fucking clothes.”

Frank left and rifled through the closet. It was still sparse with both lover's clothes. It seemed to mock him, telling him he had nowhere else to go. That he was so displaced his life was uprooted and tiny now.

He hated what he was. Gerard hated what he was. He knew that he was a monster and he knew that they could never exist together.

He knew that this was the end of them. He was the end of them,

His heart felt nauseous. He knew that Gerard would leave him. Of course he would leave him. He tried to kill him.

He was a terrible person, a terrible lover. Gerard was better off without him. Everyone was better off without him. He was fucking public enemy #1. He was a murderer for God's sake.

He sighed, pulling dark pants and dark clothing (the only color the two wore anymore) out for Gerard. He was still stuck in the bathroom, and Frank hoped he would stay long enough for him to apologize.

He trudged back, sliding the clothes under the door and sitting down. He put his forehead against the door.

What would his mother say if she saw him now? A killer, with a boyfriend, so beautiful and innocent and almost dead by his hands. She would hate him, too. She would have absolutely loved Gerard.

He stuck his hand back under the door and sucked in tears. He didn't deserve to cry. There hadn't been an attempt on his life. He didn't deserve to be sad. He didn't deserve anything. He didn't even deserve pity. He was a monster.

But he had to cry, this was his formal goodbye. This would be his last “I love you.”

He took a deep breath, steadying himself, not knowing if Gerard was paying attention.

“I'm sorry,” he started. It was no use, his voice was clogged with tears.

Gerard finished pulling on his pants, starting at his shirt, curiously watching the door as Frank talked. He showed no mercy, not anything but a little bit of interest. He paid attention to what he said while he was putting on the shirt, smelling like the both of them.

He hated Frank. He tried to hate Frank.

He started again from the other side of the door. He took a deep breath. “I'm sorry. God, I sound so stupid. I'm sorry there is a monster inside of me. I'm sorry I'm so selfish,” he said, wiping his face with his hand. He let himself fall against the door again. He was fucking this up.

Gerard watched the door, getting down on the floor when Frank started crying. He sobbed against the door, holding himself.

Gerard took his hand in his. He didn't want to leave Frank. But he had to. He had to get away he was terrified of him.

Frank grasped him back. “I love you,” he said in a breathless voice. “I love you so much that I want to die.” He was still crying, the thoughts of his worst mistake in his mind.

He should have just kicked Gerard out. He should have been selfless. It would be better than such a hell that was Gerard not loving him. He didn't love him anymore. How could he?

Gerard was so nice, Gerard was so pure. Gerard was the best thing to have ever happened to him and he felt terrible he was slowly destroying him. But Gerard was good, Gerard didn't mind.

He knew that everything was going to be okay with that grasp. He knew that he was going to be okay, with Gerard, forever in happiness. He knew that Gerard should leave, that he would kill him and they both knew it. But he didn't care. He wanted him and he wanted him by his side. He wanted to be able to love him. But no matter what, he knew that he was not good enough. So it would never work.

But with that hand grasp, Frank knew that they were okay. At least for a little while.

But he was wrong. Gerard knew that as soon as possible he would get away. He would get away from him. He just had to lie to him, tell him that he wasn't leaving. He had to get him to trust him again. He tried not to think about the time between him calling Pete and Pete getting there. He knew that there would be a time in between where he would not be okay. He dreaded that time.

He would also have to put off sleep for a little while. Till Pete could take him away.

Not to mention that Frank would flip when Pete showed up. Or maybe he could just slip away. But Pete was not his friend. Pete was Frank's friend. And there could be concerns raised there. He couldn't rip apart the two friends. That would be a terrible thing.

But, friendship etiquette would go out the window in this situation.

But obviously he had to. Frank would kill him if he didn't. Hell, he might try again in the next few days when Pete was getting to him.

They both knew that Frank would try again. No matter how much he loved him, or tried to. He would kill him again. He was more in love with the kill than he was with Gerard. Gerard was just a little bit more in love with his own life than he was with Frank. And that would be the end of them, and maybe the savior of them both.

Gerard stroked his hand with his fingers absentmindedly, his own cut riding against Frank's. Although he wanted to live, no matter how much he wanted to live he could never deny his tie to Frank. He could never forget his love of Frank.

He sighed, stilling his fingers and fitting his palm into Frank's.

“I love you,” he sighed, like a resignation. He felt more insane than Frank, letting Frank become, yet again, the one and only person Gerard truly trusted.

He hated the fact that he was to be bound to him forever. He wished he could just quit him, he wished that he didn't have any inhibitions about leaving Frank.

Frank was too much, Frank was his best friend, his everything. Frank was everything but Gerard knew that he had to let him go.

Frank answered from beyond the door. “I'd die without you.”

Gerard didn't want him to die, he wanted him forever. He wanted to be with him. He wanted to be happy. He just wanted to be happy.

He didn't care if he almost died, he needed Frank. Like he was a drug and Gerard was terrified of withdrawal. All he cared about was that Frank was going to die. He loved him too much to let him go.

Gerard sighed, resigning to being stuck to Frank forever. He would call Pete, but he would only call him in the night, when he was absolutely terrified of Frank trying to smother him again. He would call him when his back was against the wall.

He was a terribly stupid person. But what could he say? He was in love.

 

 

 


	14. In a Hollow Type of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have a messed up charger so this was fairly choppy and messed up sorry. But it should be fixed by the next time I update.

Gerard took a shaky breath and held Frank close to him, the last time, close to him. He didn't want the panic on his face to be eligible but Frank, of course, saw right through him. He saw him like he was glass, breaking under the pressure, under the stress, under Frank's stare.

“Gee, baby, what's wrong?” he asked, tucking a piece of red hair behind his ear. He looked into Gerard's eyes, trying to peel away his layers to get to his raw being. He looked at Frank, clawing at his shoulders as he held himself tighter, closer to him. He never wanted to let him go again, he knew that in just a few days, possibly even hours he wouldn't be his anymore and they would all unravel like embroidery.

If he was close enough it would get blurry again. If he was close enough, the act of his skin on Frank's would be enough to distract him. At least from his worried glances and concerned questions.

He was irritable, on edge and terrified. Frank thought it was him and kept his distance, but lord knows that that was the reason Gerard was bugging in the first place. Or at least, in part.

He wanted Frank as near to him as possible. He wanted to do the opposite of what his survival asked for. He was crazy for Frank, nearly suicidal for Frank. He bent instincts for Frank. He wanted him, forever and always, so close that it became uncomfortable. He wanted him under his skin and ripping him apart.

And then there was his self disputed mistake. He called Pete Wentz. Three days before with a plea to get him away. He wasn't sure what was taking him so long, but he wasn't complaining. There had been a change of heart within the past three days. Within the minutes of ending the call and see Frank, loving and calm and sorry for what he did to him. He was such a terrible person, they hadn't even talked it out, they just kept stepping around it.

He wanted to die. He would die. Without Frank. And Frank would surely be angry at him for his mistake. He would be angry for his betrayal.

Gerard betrayed him. Just like Frank betrayed him, sucking the life out of him three days before. This was his back stab. It felt terrible. He wondered how Frank felt about trying to kill him. Maybe he didn't even feel bad. Maybe he thought it was the right thing to do. It probably was, Gerard was a terrible person for calling Pete and making the mistake of ripping himself apart from Frank.

Was it really a mistake? Would Frank see it as one? It was, sort of. Because Gerard regretted it. But it was the logical way to act.

His sigh was ragged. He didn't want to tell Frank what he did, the horrible thing that he did. He regretted it even before he did it. Mistake, big mistake, he decided.

He couldn't tell him, he would try to kill him again. Gerard was a snitch for Christ's sake. He had told Pete what Frank had done and now he was going to come get him. He was going to take him away.

He wasn't sure if Frank would be more angry at Gerard for ruining their situation of being together or giving something malicious the prospect of coming in and ruining it for them.

Gerard would go away and what would become of Frank? Surely, Pete wouldn't let such a ruthless murderer walk the streets as he did, after trying to kill his own lover? He was vile, Frank knew that he was and if he was aware of the situation as it was, he would be sure that Pete, albeit best friend, would show him to the jailhouse.

Pete was a good person like that. He was going to come (whenever that may be in his sweet as time). And he was going to ruin what they had. Because he was such a good person.

Gerard hated good people. He was so glad that Frank was terrible.

He was going to take Gerard back under the disguise that he had came and rescued him, take him back to Mikey and Frank would go to jail. It was simple. Well, not the fine details of anything. But the gist was simple.

But not when Gerard got cold feet. After he had hung up the phone and entered the bedroom to see Frank sitting, watching him obediently with love and patience, he knew he could never leave. Frank loved him, adored him. It wasn't his fault that he was meant to destroy. He should be patient. Frank was with him. He was just being selfish.

He was much too selfish. Frank was glorious, wonderful. He was beautiful. Gerard didn't deserve his love. He was divine. Frank was something he could never imagine.

And he could never face his brother. His brother, who would never know that Gerard had killed and even wanted more, would think him innocent. And that would eat at him till he died. He couldn't keep secrets from Mikey. He was a monster and if Frank could see through him this easy, surely Mikey could.

He was scared that would happen, and that the truth would come out with Mikey's observation of Gerard's blatantly stained conscious.

He was terrified. He was scared of everything that was not comforting and loving. Frank was those two things, Gerard couldn't leave.

But Pete said he would be there. Three days before.

Gerard hoped he was okay, but he had bigger things to worry about, such as keeping Frank as near to him as possible, also with him not finding out that soon enough the two wouldn't be together anymore.

He didn't want Frank gone, he didn't like talk of Frank leaving. But he knew, he would probably have to convince him to flee before he got caught when they all went to the police.

That would be an ordeal. He didn't even know how that was going to pan out.

“Gee?” Frank asked, snapping his fingers, making Gerard jump and lose his grip on him, just slightly. “Baby, do you need space?” His frown was punctual happening right after he said the question.

He would have hated it if Gerard said yes. If Gerard reminded him yet again of the reason he was asking that question.

He had been asking that a lot considering what had happened. It seemed like the right thing to do, but that was far from the truth. Gerard wanted him as close as he possibly could get.

The obvious answer seemed to be sex, but he was too terrified of Frank to do that with him, not for a long time. Not even the future seemed to hold any intimacy for Gerard and Frank.

He didn't want to be hollow anymore. He didn't want to be in a hollow type of love. But he was too selfish to let Frank go. He was too selfish too let Frank let him go.

Frank didn't want him anymore. And he could tell, they both could tell that this love was fractured. But Frank just pretended and Gerard just pretended. And they both pretended but they weren't very good actors.

Gerard just smiled and massaged his bruise, remembering the tenderness that his words brought. Frank looked at him softly, feeling terrible that he had broken him like that.

“No, just, just need you here right now,” he replied softly, moving his hands to fist at Frank's shirt, the fabric bunching in his clenched hands.

He looked at Frank with a bigger smile, sitting on his lap with his legs smothering the bed spread under them both. He had been doing that a lot, putting their appendages as close as possible. He didn't want to lose Frank. He wanted to be as near to him as possible. He wanted to repair himself by sucking all of Frank's energy. He had to be close to him. Being near him, touching him was the only way to make the worry stop.

Except when he went to sleep.

When night hit Gerard went to sleep in the guest room, locking the door and waiting till he was sure Frank was asleep for him to go to sleep. It was a system, sick as it was and lonely as it was and scary as it was. Gerard was terrified when dark hit.

Every day for the past few at ten pm Gerard went off with a kiss and a small smile, locking himself in the farthest bedroom from Frank.

But in the morning everything was okay. Or at least, they pretended it was. With all this practice, reader, you'd think they'd be good.

They were inseparable by day, and Gerard couldn't get farther away at night. Frank just wanted to hold him, but he understood. Gerard had to keep doing this, it made him feel safer. He was sure this had to continue if there relationship was to go on. Hell, even his sanity rode on it. Or at least, he predicted it would have to. But with Pete, Pete being called by a selfish Gerard, he knew that they would be limited, their days were limited.

Frank would go to bed alone. When Gerard fell asleep he was terrified, but when Frank woke up was the most horrifying for Frank. And rightly so.

He would wake up terrified that Gerard had left in the middle of the night and then Gerard would enter with coffee and a smile and things would be right again. They would pretend again. It was better to have that facade then have one that was raw and bleeding still.

They both hadn't recovered yet, well, maybe Frank hadn't recovered from the aftermath. Gerard was the victim of the action.

Gerard kissed his lips, chaste and quick and just a kind of immediate response so Frank wouldn't ask any more questions and he smiled, wider than he had in a while in a very fake way. Fake as usual and it was a smile that Frank could not take anymore.

Frank looked at him uncomfortably, pushing him off of him so he sat on the bed by himself, away from Gerard and Gerard away from him.

They both felt empty without the comfort of their other half. It was like they were so selfish they had to flesh out a spot for themselves in each other's bodies and when they were apart like this, there was just the gaping wound to be confronted with. And neither wanted to get back into the disgusting hole they had left in each other. They didn't want to go back to the one place they belonged because when staring it head on it started to look more like a barrel of a gun than ever.

Frank walked away and to the closet, taking off his current shirt and opting for another. He raked a hand through his hair, messy and unruly and not hiding the fact that he was still a killer, even if he was now not as easy to spot.

Gerard was a killer, too. There was no going back from this. They had fractured themselves from the rest of the world completely, not even realizing that they could be fractured from each other and then they would be islands. Islands in their own right, lonely and terrified and falling out of love faster than even falling to the ground. Gerard already had the scraps on his hands and knees to prove it, though.

Gerard sat waiting, having dressed after a shower, smile faltering and watching Frank.

Frank pulled the shirt on, sneaking a peak back at Gerard, who sit frozen and fake on the bed. The distance between the two made Gerard ache. He would miss him.

He hoped to God that for some reason Pete wasn't coming. He didn't seem like he was. For Christ's sake it had been three days.

“Gee, you know I'm not gonna try to kill you again,” he lets out and they both wince at the reminder of their ordeal.

Gerard would never forget it. He could never forget what it felt like to wake up from a dream falling into the abyss. It made his smile falter, Frank thought he could see him, he thought he knew the problem. That was not the problem, that was only part of it. That was only part of why Gerard was acting weird.

He fixed his smile, tilted like a hat on a head too small. It stretched over his lips, hurting his cheek like knives.

“Of course,” he says, brightly, smiling wide at Frank. His fingers are drumming against his knee and his face still hurts from the smile he keeps plastered on. He knows Frank can see through him, but the picture is a little sordid and he is so thankful for that.

Frank pounded a fist into the wall, making Gerard flinch and whimper. Taking cover inside the corner of the bed. He was jumpy. What could he say?

Frank sighed, taking a look at his bleeding knuckles before glancing back at the shocked Gerard. He was trembling, holding himself away.

“I'm not going to hurt you anymore!” Frank said, as if he was trying to convince himself that. He looked to Gerard again, fists balled and eyes hurt.

Gerard watched him, heart beat breaking his ribs.

Gerard stared back, looking to Frank's fist, skin broken and loose. There was some blood lose, some on the wall even. But there was no dent to show Frank's expulsion of anger. His eyes were blown wide like stained glass as he looked back to Frank's own eyes.

“I know,” Gerard said in a shaky and small voice. He bit his lip, feeling the blood pool under it. The skin was rocky and begging to be broken, he just let his teeth pull over it before taking it back in again. He was still besides that, watching Frank watch him. It was quiet, too quiet before Frank was the one to breath the silence. He snapped his lips under his teeth as he talked.

“I don't want you to be scared of me.” His voice was hollow, pleading, vulnerable like a bunny lying wounded in the road while a truck was coming. He pressed his unhurt hand against the wall, looking at his feet, away from Gerard. Gerard didn't want to be away from him. Not even his murderous hands.

“I'd cut off my hands if it made you feel safer!” Frank confessed to the wall. He was never good with emotion but God he had a lot of them. Especially when it came to Gerard.

He just wanted to make Gerard happy. He didn't want to pretend that they were okay. Between the fake smiles and the lonely nights, it had been three days and he just couldn't take it. He wanted Gerard happy, he wanted Gerard safe. And he knew Gerard did not feel safe with him. And it was ripping him apart. He wanted to rip himself apart. Maybe that would make amends for his sins toward his angelic lover.

He didn't want to murder anymore. He just wanted to die. He just wanted to make Gerard happy, to give him what he deserved. He would become a martyr if it meant Gerard was happy.

“I'm not scared of you,” Gerard piped up, loosening his grip on himself. He had a shaky voice and rickety movements, going to touch Frank's face, careful and loving and watching him intently. He wanted Frank to love him. He wanted Frank to be free and uninhibited to be himself around him. But that was more than dangerous as the two had seen.

“Yes, you are!” Frank said, keeping his exclamation low as to not scare Gerard further.

Gerard slipped under his arm, putting his own around his waist. Frank could see from their stance how much more taller Gerard really was.

It made him feel inferior, it made him feel small. It made him feel the way that he did whenever he felt stupid. It made him feel less. He was too little to make Gerard happy, in seemingly, every sense of the word.

Gerard kissed his forehead, engulfing Frank with his body. He swayed them back and forth, back and forth, like the sea. They were the sea, as vast and deep and dark and treacherous as the sea and they were together, they lapped like tides when they had sex. Sex they hadn't had in days. It was Frank's fault. Everything was Frank's fault.

Frank closed his eyes with a resigned sigh, letting Gerard hold him with all his steady calm. He mumbled out his question. “Than what are you afraid of?” He didn't want to know the answer and Gerard's silence made him want it less.

Gerard didn't answer for a moment, he kept stroking Frank's hair before confessing. “I'm afraid of losing you.” It was the truth, but Frank just shook his head slightly, not believing him. He didn't comment much on his disbelief. He just tried to reassure him.

Frank heard his heartbeat like a sickening and mesmerizing drum. He told the truth. “I could never leave you.”

Gerard was everything good, everything grounding. He kept Frank steady. He was everything he could ever want. Never, he could never leave him. Gerard was a chance in the lifetime. Frank was too selfish to let him go. They were too selfish to let each other go. They were hurting each other. They loved each other so much. Frank loved Gerard so much, he wasn't so sure about his boyfriend. He should just break up with him, let him out, let him go. Frank knew that he wanted to but was terrified of Frank.

But Lord, had he thought about it. Gerard would be so much more happier if Frank wasn't there. Frank knew that he would be, he was certain. He might not have been loved by Gerard, but he knew him.

If Gerard didn't slip out into the night one of these days, Frank sure would. And he would leave Gerard, happy and alone and new. He wouldn't hurt him anymore.

Gerard could start and be new. But no, he was hung up with Frank. He fell in love with him more as he held him. Gerard was so selfless. He was squeezing into the grave with Frank. Just to keep him company even though now they would decay.

“I am. I am terrified of you leaving, of you being taken away,” Gerard explained further, heartbeat quicker as he talked to Frank.

Frank looked up from Gerard's shirt. “What do you mean? Did you- Gerard, did you snitch?” His eyebrows were furrowed as he looked at Gerard in surprise.

Gerard winced, not wanting to face the brutal truth and his biggest mistake.

“I called Pete three days ago,” he admitted. He looked terribly guilty.

Frank let himself push Gerard away, his body sitting on the bed in awe. He knew that Gerard didn't want him anymore. But snitch? But tell Pete and turn him against him, his best friend?

“Gerard, how could you?” he asked, looking up.

“I'm sorry. I was scared. I-I-I was terrified and I wanted to go home. He hasn't called back, he probably isn't coming. I regretted it immediately,” Gerard said, shaking with the fear of Frank getting angrier and angrier.

“He's going to come and take you away from me! All because you were stupid!” he screamed, off the bed and in Gerard's face.

Gerard was crying, shivering into the corner as Frank advanced on him. He looked up to him, stormy eyes and balled fists.

“I'm sorry. You tried to kill me, what was I supposed to do?” he asked, deep, erratic breaths. He held up his hands as a shield, deep in the corner of the room, looking up at Frank, weak and pathetic, cowarding in his shadow.

It hurt him to know that Gerard thought he was going to hurt him. That was his instinct now. He held up his hands in surrender against Frank, looking up at him with thin eyes.

“Shut up. Just shut the fuck up,” Frank said in a shaky voice, anger gone with Gerard's explanation, exasperation in his voice. He raked a hand through his hair, looking down at Gerard, pitiful to anyone who didn't love him.

“Please don't hurt me,” Gerard said with a small voice, taking up his old stance, moving to cower more as Frank looked at him, moving his arms in exasperation as he seemed to do now.

“I can't- Did he say he was taking you away?” he asked, starting to cry, moving his covered hands to his face. He seemed smaller than Gerard, slowly coming out of his shell in shock that Frank was not hurting him.

“I asked him to,” Gerard said, wiping his own face. He didn't want to look to Frank, he was crying now, full on. He felt terrible for making him feel bad. He loved him so much. He was so terrible for hurting him like this. He was a terrible person, Frank knew this.

That was why he tried to kill him. He was stifling his bad, his maliciousness. He was doing good and he had no right to try to save his own life.

He was a bad person, he would become a bad person. Frank was just doing what he thought was right. He probably was right.

He had to ask Frank to confirm his suspicions. “Frankie, did you try to kill me because I'm bad?” he asked. “Am I a bad person?” His voice was think and holding in the flood of tears that was starting to come through.

“No, no, baby,” he said, his own sobs having broken loose. Gerard didn't want to pry, he was already worked up.

He wondered if it wasn't for the obvious reasons, he had no idea why Frank tried to kill him. Maybe it was just his luck, maybe he just didn't want him anymore.

He looked like he did. Like he felt terrible for driving Gerard to feel the need to call Pete.

Frank fell on his knees, arms around his face. His cries were muffled through the fabric. Gerard went to hold him, arms awkwardly around his body, trying to make him feel better. He didn't want to make him feel bad, he didn't mean to. God, he regretted everything. He should just get his mouth sewn shut. That would make things better. For all parties involved in hearing Gerard speak or talk to him.

He looked to Gerard with his arms around him, trying to encompass his being the best he could. When did they get so fucked? When were they so alienated from each other that this would happen? When did the cradle start to break? Was it when they first got together? Was the foundation already sagging under the weight of all the blood on their hands?

He looked down at his hand, blood having mingled with Gerard's before in such a display of love it hurt him to think about it. For God's sake, they weren't even technically together now. Gerard was going to go with Pete in a few days time, whether he wanted to or not.

Only weeks before they had decided forever. The scab was just starting to peel. But it still meant the same thing. It should at least.

“What does this mean for us, Gee?” he asked him. He had felt so small in the past few minutes. His voice was naive. His being was small and riddled with doubt and sadness. He was terrified of losing Gerard. He was terrified of Gerard leaving even more probably.

Gerard took a deep breath. He didn't want to answer that question. He didn't know the answer himself. “I love you.” He avoided the question because he was sure they both knew the answer, even if they couldn't put it into very comprehensible words.

Frank avoided asking again. He couldn't get it out of his mouth again, it cut like razors. He could already taste the blood. Or maybe that was him wanting to. He needed to kill again, he had to kill again, his fingers ached for it.

Maybe he would leave tonight and go get someone. It would take a few minutes and it was something needed.

He took Gerard into his arms, hating the feeling of being small. He needed to protect him, he didn't want to be protected anymore. He wanted to kill. He was meant to destroy. He didn't want Gerard to be standing in front of that.

But he wouldn't have Gerard for long. So he had to let him be as close to him as possible. He knew he couldn't convince Pete to let him stay with Gerard. He was a murderer. He was a killer. Pete was a good person and he hated it. How can a gang leader be a good person?

Pete would never go for it. He was much too good of a person to let them stay together.

He seemed to be surrounded by good people. Gerard was a good person, the best person. He was much too good for Frank. Maybe that was the real reason he tried to kill him. Not to save him, but to get rid of the foreigner intruding on Gerard.

He took a breath, getting the tears off his face. Gerard looked up at him from his shoulder, eyes so beautiful and so much like Frank's.

How could anything be beautiful if it had an semblance to him? He felt too disgusting to even be called ugly. He was just despicable.

“I'm sorry,” he said, truthfully, holding Gerard to him, clutching at his back so their bodies were flush together. The skin on skin contact seemed to burn each other. Frank wanted more. He wanted Gerard all over him. He wanted him nearer. He wanted to believe he loved him.

He didn't want Gerard to ever leave him. But wasn't that something he couldn't help. Pete was going to come and take Gerard away from this. Lord knows what would happen to Frank. Would Pete turn him in? He probably would. Pete always seemed to have more morals than Frank ever did. He didn't even want to live without Gerard, so being imprisoned might be better for the both of the lovers sanity.

“My fault,” Gerard mumbled, not looking at Frank, tracing the wrinkles of his sleeve with his eyes. His arms laid within the crescents of Frank's shoulders.

Frank felt his waist, so fragile and natural, his hands fit so perfectly. He would never love anything as much as he loved Gerard. He would never need anything as much as Gerard. They fit together so perfectly.

Frank nudged their foreheads together, kissing him full on, eyes closed and outlook dark. Frank didn't want to think for a while.

“No,” he muttered back to Gerard, voice even and rippling. It wasn't Gerard's fault for being terrified of someone who tried to kill him. He left it at that, because they both new it was his fault, they didn't want to say it.

“It was my fault. I called Pete,” he said, smaller than ever in Frank's arms. He looked terribly guilty as his eyes swam with diamonds, tears starting to fall.

Frank shushed him and wiped the tears away with his thumbs, holding his cheeks in his hands.

“No, baby. I tried to kill you. I could have killed you, baby,” he said, breathless as he finished, staring into Gerard's eyes. He was crying now, having gotten into another swing of reality, the wave of actuality in his mind as he thought about seeing Gerard's body lifeless.

“I'm so glad that I didn't,” he said, holding Gerard closer to him for a hug for a moment before pushing him away to look at his face and grab his shoulders.

They just stared into each other's eyes for a while longer, both of them wiping each other's tears and crying. But it was a sort of crying that wasn't exactly all sad. There was the fact that they were reuniting that made them both ecstatic, both relieved. They would be okay for one more day and that was something to rejoice in. That was something they could both cry about.

Frank wanted them to be okay long term. He thought they could be when they ran awa, that they would be okay. But Frank knew that they had to have little breakthroughs every few days. They could never have true peace.

Gerard deserved better. Gerard deserved so much more than Frank could give him.

He was glad that Gerard was getting taken away from him by fate. He was glad that Gerard could be new again without Frank having to give him up. He was just being taken away from him. And that would break their hearts but maybe it was for the best. Maybe Frank could grow up and be selfless and let him get taken away, let him be safe.

Gerard did not want to be safe, he did not want Frank to let him go. He wanted to be with him forever. He would be so lonely if Frank let him go.

What if Frank did let him go? What if he didn't fight for him? Did that mean he loved him less or loved him more than Gerard imagined?

Gerard took a shaking, gasping breath before admitting tearfully, “I miss you already.” He accompanied the heartbreaking phrase with a small chuckle, nervously wiping at his eyes. He let out a sob, rolling his head in melancholy on Frank's shoulder. He looked heartbroken and Frank was glad it was not him who directly did this to him.

He scowled as he thought to the day Pete would take him away. It would be pain. There would be so much pain and there would be incredible uncertainty. Frank was going to kill himself after Gerard was gone.

There was no hope for him, no hope for them. He cherished his last few days on Earth, his last few days with his lover.

He stared into Gerard's eyes more. He would not tell him what he was going to do, that would only worry him more. He was already freaking out about it.

He was going to be free soon. He was going to be free and he was going to be beautiful. He was going to be so much more happy.

“Shh,” Frank said, holding Gerard closer to him. His hands met at the blossom of his back, the dip in existence at which Frank's world met. The world that would soon be ending.

It was weird to think about how calm he was. His demise was something that he had so dreaded before. He was surely going to hell. He was going to hell and Gerard would go to heaven. He would be saved. He was so pure.

He climbed out of the hole in his head where he nestled his thoughts and looked at Gerard harder, deciphering his fright. He had to lie to him to make him calm down.

“He's not gonna take you away from me. No one's gonna take you away from me, baby boy,” he promised Gerard. It hurt like knifes in his mouth to lie to him. Because someone was going to take Gerard away, Pete was. He reminded himself again that he would be better off.

But Gee's eyes were still wide and panicky. He looked more innocent now than he ever has before. He looked so stripped back, something Frank had seen before when Gerard was uncertain. When they were fleeing before, after being found out. This was something that shocked him because he hadn't seen this look in his eyes in a while.

He wasn't pretending anymore and that made everything so much more real between them. Made everything so much more potent.

“What are we gonna do, Frankie?” An electric shock of 'holy shit' went through his body at the affection Frank felt when Gerard called him that. It was pleasant, something that had happened to him time and time before but never ceased to amaze him. Gerard amazed him. He was so grateful for his baby. So grateful he didn't kill him.

He shivered, hearing his screams in his ears again before blocking them out with the power that Gerard gave him to erase everything bad he was thinking about. Gerard was the cure to everything Frank.

Frank could erase himself and fall into Gerard, he could do it. He could become Gerard. But that was for another time. That was for when Frank was feeling especially bad. Right now he just needed to assure Gerard that they would be okay. He was freaking out, no matter how many little reassurances Frank gave him it was not enough to calm him down.

Frank pet Gerard's greasy hair. He took the liberty of another sigh. “Well, babe. Sounds like a murder would be good right about now.” That would take his mind off of his own death, as well as take Gerard's mind off of what was going to be happening in a few days.

He said it so casually he knew that they were just about okay again. But it was a very reserved, hesitant remark. He didn't know how Gerard would feel about it, how he would take it. He was touchy with it in the weeks before, witnessing his first. But that was because he was witnessing it, not doing it. Doing it was much more fun.

But Natalie was Gerard's first, Gerard's favorite. Forever. But that was before Frank tried to kill him. So maybe he would react differently. Maybe it would be different this time around. Frank found himself terrified that it would be that way.

But he just looked at him calmer, nodding his head, knocking it around as he thought more about it. He waited with bated breath for an answer, regretting the fact that he said it the second time around.

Frank watched him, slightly scared. He was terrified of what he would say in response. He was terrified he would say no, and say no because of what Frank did to him.

Gerard smiled at him, little chuckle on the remnants of his breath as he looked up from his stance on Frank. “Yeah, alright.”

 


	15. Puzzle Pieces and The Meaning of Life When They Scatter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My charger is completely busted now but I finished the main draft for this in two days and if I didn't move the last scene to the next chapter we would have had 7500+ words on this one alone so be proud.

Pete had Mikey's long, spidery legs laying on his lap when the first call came. He hit ignore, not looking at the person calling, going back to just talking to Mikey about nothing and everything. The were whispering quietly to one another, Mikey having his feet playing with each other, absentmindedly.

Pete was really gorgeous. He had eyes like black holes that were sucking Mikey in.

He didn't want to fall in love with him, he didn't want him to be so important. But he was, and he had to accept that. He was beginning to accept that.

In the past few days they had grown closer to each other, even closer than before he left. They talked and fucked, they never made love, Pete wanted to, but Pete couldn't do that. He couldn't do that because Mikey didn't love him. God, he wanted Mikey to love him. He just wanted to know that he was worth something beyond a fuck and some cuddling to him. But he had to settle for what he had and that was Mikey.

He loved Mikey, but Mikey was too broken to love him. Mikey was too untrusting to love him, but Pete would be patient. He wasn't going to push it, he would just let it come naturally. He was going to let it come on his own time. He just hoped it would get here sooner, he wanted Mikey to love him before he had to go away again.

Frank and Gerard were unpredictable, he might have to leave in the middle of the night again. He did not want to leave like that. It would kill him. It would kill Mikey. (Or he so sort of liked to think.)

And speaking of killing Mikey, him finally trusting Pete enough to love him would be difficult if he had to betray him again. He knew that it was probably smarter to leave well enough alone. There would be less damage if Mikey found out and they had to break up. But he wanted all of what he could get, he wanted to max out all of his prizes.

He would let him love him naturally. He didn't want to force him into anything. He would let Mikey take it as slowly as he wanted to.

Mikey looked like he was getting there. Like he was slowly trusting Pete again. Like he was slowly trusting the world again.

It was nice like this, early in the morning, late in the night, stuck between the time of twilight and the dawning of daybreak. They had talked for hours, seems like years. Long and drawn out and interesting as they just stared at each other now.

He stroked his shins through his baggy jeans, head against the couch in bliss. He never wanted to leave. He could hand over his business to Frank and he could leave that all behind. He would do that, for Mikey. He would leave everything he had ever loved and sever the ties between them. He didn't need anything from his past anyway.

Mikey was so calm and beautiful. He was normal and he was interesting and Pete could fall in love with him, he could start a real life with him. Nothing he ever did before was like Mikey Way. Mikey was new and Mikey was medicine. Mikey was something distracting, and Pete was distracting him. So they both got something out of it. Even if it seemed mutualistic, it was parasitic.

Pete would never get to tell him why he really came and why he really came back, Thus was just a little indulgence of the self on Pete's part. And a whole fuck bunch of fate on Mikey's.

But Mikey made Pete feel good and that was something that he had never felt before in all his years of walking the earth. Not even his riches and his easy life. He cared for Mikey in a way that one would care for a pet. But he loved him so much deeper, so much deeper it was sinister in the way that half of their relationship was built under false pretenses.

It was nice for Pete to be feeling good for once in his life. Even if it was staged, somewhat faked.

He never had anything as simple as this before Mikey. He liked to think of it as simple.

He never wanted to leave Mikey. He never wanted Mikey to leave him. This was the most alive he had felt in all twenty six years of his life. Mikey was Mikey, and that was better than any other thing Pete had ever had.

Mikey was better than drugs. Mikey was medicine.

Mikey's eyes were dark and electric as he stared back at Pete. He leaned forward to kiss him, eyes fluttering closed as the next phone call came. He held Pete's hand down as he went to grab for it. He pressed it up to him, sliding it over his chest and around his shoulder. Pete's lips were electric as Mikey left little pin pricks in the pink skin with gentle touches of his lips against his.

God, he loved him so much. He bit back from saying it. He knew that it would kill the mood. He was sure Mikey wasn't looking for anything serious. He knew that all he wanted was a little company. But God, he loved him so much.

Mikey was looking for something easy, something to be shared with someone else. He wanted to be listened to and to be touched and Pete could do that, but he felt his time of patience was running out.

But Pete could forget that if Mikey was going to be so hot. He could forget his qualms with the relationship just for a while.

Pete's hands went to his ass, perfect and rounded and small as he bent down to kiss Pete, he swung a leg around him, the other being stuck in Pete's other hand, trailing his fingers on his knee. He was tracing Mikey like he was art. Mikey so desperately wanted to be his art.

He wanted to be looked at like he meant something, like he was worth something, he kissed back breathlessly, trying to entwine their tongues but Pete broke away after a moment of letting Mikey forget his own insecurities.

“Mikey, I might have to get that. It may be important,” he reminded his boyfriend, hands kneading on his bum. His hands went to the front of his thighs, his bulge being welcomed by Pete's hands.

Mikey made a whimper as he let his back curve away from Pete, arching himself closer to Pete's awaiting face. It felt so good to be treated like this by Pete.

It was distracting, it was normal. Mikey needed this. He needed Pete.

“Come on, they can call back,” Mikey said, biting his lip, desperate as a teenager to get off, rocking his crotch against Pete's face, just begging for a blow job, or some sort of friction on him, on his bare body. He needed some sort of release.

It rang again and Mikey cursed, dropping down and looking at Pete with a sigh. His eyebrows were furrowed as he pouted at his lover who looked much more composed than Mikey was.

“They called back,” Pete said with a bit of a smug smirk looking at Mikey with affectionate eyes. His smile was pretty. His smile was sunshine and Mikey was getting skin cancer whenever he looked at him.

He looked down, raking a hand through his hair, trying to escape the inevitable. He didn't want to let the moment go because he knew it wouldn't be the same.

He let himself frown and looked up Pete, already making an eye at the ringing phone. Mikey knew he should let him take it, that he was being childish.

He sighed. He looked disgruntled as he sat back down on the couch. His hair was a mess and he was sure that he had the fact that he was making out with Pete like a teenager written all over his face.

Pete kissed his temple, grabbing his phone from the table. He leaned back, standing up. “I'm gonna take this, I'll be back in a second.” He couldn't be too careful, taking a phone call. He never saved Gerard or Frank into his contacts, lest Mikey go through it or accidentally see it. So he wasn't entirely sure who it was all the time. And he didn't want him to hear them and what they were saying. Obviously.

He took no liberties when it came to this. He wanted this to last for as much as he could get it to.

Mikey wrinkled his nose, letting Pete go out, breathing heavy and trying to make it less obvious that he was completely turned on.

Pete let the call go through, heavy breathing on the other line, erratic and Gerard's. His heavy breathing was high pitched and there were soft, dry sobs from his end, crackling all the way from Portland.

He looked around, not wanting Mikey to hear out in the thin hallway outside his apartment. “Gee, what's wrong?” he asked in a concerned tone, did they accidentally call him, was Gerard in trouble?

“P-Pete?” he asked in a small voice, broken and whispery. He was really shaken up. Pete could tell that just through his first few words.

“Yes, Gee? It's Pete, are you alright? Is Frank alright?” he asked him, patient and concerned.

“P-Pete, Frank tried to, oh god, he tried to kill me,” he said in a shaky voice. He was wheezing on the other line. He started to cry, quiet reserved sobs that made Pete think that he had already cried over this. They stopped at once, a gasp going through Gerard before he stopped to listen to Pete.

“What, oh, baby, I'm so sorry,” his voice was soft, continuing to speak, “When did he do this?” he asked.

“A few hours ago. I hid in the bathroom, but I came out about an hour ago. He hasn't tried to hurt me after that. He was pretty sorry about it. He choked me with a pillow while I was sleeping. Now he's asleep and Pete, Pete, I'm scared,” he quivered into the phone. He was going to start going into tears soon if Pete didn't calm him down enough to think straight.

He knew that it was tough on Gerard, so he didn't ask anymore questions and he talked in a soothing voice.

He might have been a gang leader but he was an empathetic person and he knew how to calm someone down.

“Alright, you'll be okay, okay? I'm gonna come get you as soon as I can. Stay away from him, alright? I'm coming to get you,” he said in a small voice. He looked around again at the apartment door and all down the hallway. No one was coming. Not for him anyway, but for Gerard, the nightmare had just started.

“Okay, Pete, I'm scared,” he said, his voice was low and Pete could just picture him, laying with his body inside of itself, in a closet, any closet, away from Frank.

He didn't know what to do. He could tell him to leave, but that would likely leave him homeless and alone. He could tell him to stay and he might _die._

“It's okay. Did he seem like he was going to do it again?” he asked him in a small voice. He didn't want to make him think about it again, but he needed to assess the situation and the danger level.

“No,” Gerard started in a quivering voice. “He looked really sad, I cried a bit after coming out, then he cried a bit. Now he's asleep, he wouldn't go to bed until I came with him, but I slipped out,” he explained to Pete.

It was a typical Frank thing, or else it was in typical Frank patterns.

He heaved a sigh as he went to speak again. “Try not to make him angry,” he advised him and that was the best he could give. He had never heard of Frank _trying_ to kill someone. He always succeeded. He did not know what to do in this situation.

“Pete, why would he do this? Was I bad? Did I deserve this? Maybe this wasn't such a good idea...” he said, trailing off on the subject as Pete could hear him chewing on his nails over the phone, anxiety reaching high levels.

Pete felt sick, was this what Frank was feeding to him? Was he abusing him? Or was Gerard just so desperate for Frank's love that he tore himself down on too many occassions?

“No, no, Gee. You did the right thing. No one deserves to die. You're a good person, Gee. Don't let him make you think otherwise,” he said, trying to be a supportive friend to a person he barely knew. It was a bit janky, but he felt he needed to help Gerard. He had to get him out of there.

“O-okay,” Gerard said. He was still uncertain, but with Pete's half assed way of trying to help, he wasn't surprised. Pete wasn't good at empathy, it was a miracle he helped Mikey as much as he did. He was an emotional mess.

“But Pete-!” he tried to sob again after going quiet for a second.

Pete stopped him, “You're a good person, Gerard,” he reminded him, assured him. No one deserved to die. Not even scum like Frank.

He couldn't believe that he would do his. When he met Gerard, they had been so perfect together, they had been in love. He could see Frank with a future, bright and happy. Gerard was his future, why would he do this to him?

Frank was impulsive, it wasn't unlike him to do something of this magnitude just out of boredom.

He hung up the phone, having said goodbye to the worried and rightly so Gerard. He grudgingly left him alone in an apartment with a murderer.

He was worn from those couple minutes. He could only imagine how Gerard felt.

He sighed, feeling confused and a little bit numb as he looked at his phone, silence in the hallway gaining on him. He wanted to go back to Mikey and he had to go to bed and he had leave in the morning. It was already early morning, too early to do anything, he had to go to sleep, get a few hours to clear his head and make a plan. He didn't know what he would say to Mikey, maybe he wouldn't say anything. Maybe he would just leave like he did before.

But that would be terrible, and it would not explain how he brought Gerard back, he could think of something. He could make Mikey believe anything he told him if he tried hard enough.

He hated getting himself mixed up in this, but he would never have met Mikey if he didn't do this. So maybe it would work, or maybe he would grow from it. Maybe it was just an excuse to die.

He walked inside, heaving a sigh and preparing to tell Mikey the lie he had concocted. He couldn't bear to see his face when he said he couldn't be with him for this thing.

He could not believe it himself. He would have to make another lie about why he couldn't come.

“Mikey?” he asked, excited, putting up the facade that he needed to to sell the lie.

Mikey just looked ahead at the wall, he hadn't moved and any semblance of sex they were going to have was gone. He just looked like a statue.

Had he heard him? Or was he just thinking? He entered the room carefully, hesitantly, watching Mikey.

“Mikey, baby? Is something wrong?” he asked as he sat down next to him on the couch.

Mikey stood up, looking at him. “How could you?! How could you do that to me?” he asked him as he crossed his arms, he looked like he was about to cry.

Pete wanted to act like he was stupid to maintain the facade for as long as he could. He didn't want to face the fact that Mikey knew the truth. They were over, obviously. They were done for, no question. He didn't want that. He wanted Mikey to love him. He wanted to think that he had a chance of making Mikey love him still, it was the only thing that motivated him to wake up in the morning. Now all his worst fears were coming true and he felt like killing himself.

“Do what?” he asked him as he smiled, coy and shy and in total denial. Mikey scowled harder at him, eyes wide and dark with the light of betrayal and anger.

He didn't want Mikey to be angry at him. Could he lie out of it? No, Mikey knew, Mikey was certain. There would be no going back.

“That was my brother on the phone, wasn't it? You know my brother, you've been keeping this from me, haven't you?!” he asked him, his eyes were getting red and puffy, swimming with tears and hurt. His voice was small.

Pete hated it when he cried, he hated it when anyone cried. He had done this to him, he was a person who hurt. He was just like Frank, killing Gerard. He was killing Mikey. He was killing his trust in him. He felt terrible. He was so terrible. He was ripping Mikey apart and it showed.

Mikey's hair was still ruffled from their make out session, interrupted. But with him pulling on it in anger and all those stewings of bad feelings, it was even more messier than Pete's ensuing explanations .

“I- Mikey, let me explain. It's really more complicated than you think,” he said, wringing his hands. He had given up any hope of getting any sleep. He had given up hope of his lover. He was alone now, he had always been alone.

It was what he was born to do. He just wanted to love Mikey and have him love him.

He could have been happy if he wasn't so stupid, if he wasn't unlucky.

Fate didn't want him to have Mikey Way and he had to accept that.

He looked at him with his heart turning to dust. Mikey looked at him with venom, heart turning to stone.

They were so similar, but they had their differences. Mikey was strong. Mikey was better than Pete in so many ways. Mikey was pure.

“Is it? Is it really? Because it seems like you know where my brother is,” he said, mouth puckered. He was trying not to cry. He was trying to be strong, because believe it or not, he was not anything that Pete told him he was.

He was something bad, he was something ugly. He was not pure, he was not strong. He was human and he was frail and selfish and self conscious. But with Mikey he might have felt good. Now, his validation, his weapon of self love, had turned against him in a fit of rage and tears and distrust.

Even if he was trying not to cry he was still beautiful. He would always be beautiful, because he was strong. Because he was everything Pete was not.

His eyes were wide as he looked at him, hurt. Window panes of hatred, new and stormy and raw. He had peeled back the layers of love and now all that was left was squabbling and bitter anger, a storm inside his body. Pete wanted to take out his eyes and replace them with ones that were slightly blind so they saw him as something that wasn't so critical.

He just wanted Mikey to love him, and now, that was gone.

Pete didn't speak, he just looked down at the floor, thinking of the hot tears he would let fly down his face if he was anymore worse at hiding his emotions.

He thought back to what Mikey had said to him, almost close to screaming he seemed so frustrated. He thought back critically, on his disposition and the words. That part was true, but he didn't know the whole story. No one knew the whole story. It was too complicated for that.

“Portland, Oregon. He called me because Frank tried to kill him,” he said, rubbing the back of his head, finally talking. It was not helping his case.

“How do you know Frank?” he asked him, voice quivering with the fact that his brother had been abused. He seemed to ignore that for all of his other questions, trying to make sense of the situation. Pete could not blame him, it was confusing, It was enough to take in without factoring the reason he found out. He knew it was a lot to compute and Mikey was trying to take it slowly without crying.

Pete's betrayal and where they actually stood on their relationship was confusing him too.

“He's my friend,” Pete shrugged, feeling shameful as his questions continued to pelt him.

“How could someone like him have friends?” he spit at him. He knew that Mikey was questioning his character, who he truly was. He got that, he understood that.

“He's a good person. He loves Gerard,” he said, sticking up for his friend while simultaneously sticking up for himself.

“He loves Gerard?” Mikey asked with an incredulous smirk on his disbelieving face. Pete understood why he didn't believe Pete, they hadn't seen it from each others perspectives. All Mikey knew was whatever Frank had been shown to him, and that was the wildly guilty one.

“Yeah, he loves Gerard. He loves Gerard more than anything, and I don't know why he would try to kill him, but he did and now I have to go get him,” Pete said. It was not good for his story, this factor that Frank _had_ tried homicide on Gerard.

“He tried to kill him and you're trying to say he loved him?” he asked Pete, his arms folding more as one knee dropped down to show his growing intolerance to Pete's blubbering.

“Frank's complicated. But they were good people, a good couple. Frank was my friend from a few years back. I hooked them up with a place,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. He was probably digging himself a deeper hole. He was not going to ever get into Mikey's good books again.

Mikey looked like he was starting to cry. He folded his arms more in on himself as he looked to Pete.

“I don't care if he hasn't been a bad boyfriend. He took him away from me and he is obviously unstable if he tried to kill him. I want my brother away from that murderer,” he said, puckered lips. He acted like a worried parent. But he was really just a worried and terrified brother.

He wanted his brother back, he wanted his best friend back. Pete could understand his anger at him. Hell, he was angry at himself for making Mikey angry at him.

Pete wanted to comfort him, he felt like an asshole for hurting him like that. He didn't want to be bad, he didn't want to be Frank. No matter how good of friends they were he didn't want to be anything like him. He wanted to be stable, normal. He wanted to be good to Mikey. He wanted to give him what he deserved. He deserved better than Pete. He deserved better than this story he was placed in.

Mikey didn't deserve this, he was breaking under the stress of the information Pete was giving him. His hazel eyes looked wild and wet as he stared at Pete for a moment in silence. He felt sick just looking at him, knowing what he did.

He had some composure before he totally broke down. He looked to Pete from the foot away he was, betrayal in his eyes. He didn't say anything before his eyes squeezed shut and he started to cry. He looked so small. He looked so hurt and confused. He looked like a baby bunny, lost somewhere without it's mother.

“I'm sorry,” Pete said, feeling terrible that he did that to Mikey. He had done this to Mikey, he had hurt him like this and now Mikey was starting to shatter. He didn't want to break Mikey, he wanted to put him together.

He was a shatterer, a destroyer of everything beautiful. Just like Frank was. He was a bad person, he would _kill_ Mikey. He would, soon.

He didn't want to, he just wanted to make Mikey happy. He couldn't do this anymore. He didn't want to exist like this. He just wanted to pluck Mikey out of this, erase his memory and take him to a universe where they could be happy and normal.

He should never have gotten mixed up in this. He should have never have loved Mikey Way. He was a terrible person. He should never have gotten both of them mixed up in it. He should have left when he had the chance and not have fucked up Mikey's life further. He didn't deserve this. Gerard didn't deserve this. They both deserved better boyfriends, better lovers. They were too good for the hell they were put in.

“I just- Do you really- Fuck, it's stupid, I feel so stupid,” he blubbered wiping at his sad eyes with his hand over his face, covering his hot pink shame. He would have looked cute if he wasn't crying.

Pete could feel his shame, his embarrassment as he let Pete look upon a vulnerable scene of him, opening himself up unwillingly. This was like the night they met, explosive and tear filled.

“You're not stupid,” he said, his own mumble not enough to curb Mikey's doubts of himself. He didn't know what to do with himself, sitting on the couch of a lover who despised him.

He was sitting on the couch of someone who had already severed him from his life. And he felt the shock wave, the wound of that timid laceration as it killed him. He was infected with the sorrow he had inflicted upon himself. It was his own stupidity that would kill him. But it was Mikey Way and the way he looked, beaten down and tired a foot away from him, cut off entirely from Pete. He loved him so much, he just wanted to do anything for him. He would do anything for him.

He didn't know what to say to make him feel better, he wanted to hold him, to touch him, to make him feel better. He didn't know what to do, he had made him feel bad. He wanted to make him feel better. But he was a stranger now, he was always a stranger. He didn't deserve to be anything more. He was alienated and just a few minutes before they had been closer than ever. Everything could just turn on a dime like that and it made his head spin.

He took his arms and he held them against his side as Mikey was doing. They weren't each others anymore. They were just islands. They were just terrible.

Pete looked up at Mikey, emotions scattered and even his hands were lonely, touching each other and cold. He wanted to hold Mikey's hand. He wanted to hold Mikey. He just wanted to make him feel better.

Mikey looked at him like he wanted him. He looked at him like he wanted to be in his arms but he was scared. He was so scared of being hurt again. And truth be told, Pete was afraid he was going to hurt him.

He was so glad Mikey didn't have the chance to fall in love with him.

“Take me to my brother,” he said with a new sort of command to his voice as he looked at Pete. His face and his voice looked like they were both trembling, atoms tingling and beating each other up. His mouth quivered as he stared at him, eyes shining and shaking themselves with tears that threatened to continue to fall. He didn't want to show him he was small.

He stood with his head high, looking down at Pete who was sitting on the couch, clueless. He wasn't sure if he should keep the eye contact. He wasn't sure if it would

He didn't want Pete to see him upset, he didn't want him to know that he was broken because of him, he felt battered, bruised. He felt horribly betrayed by someone he had wanted to love, someone he had came to love. He was nothing, everyone he ever knew had taken that out of him.

Pete was a terrible person for doing this to him. And he resented him for it. He had loved him, he was so terrified that he was falling in love with him. He didn't want to, no he couldn't. He could never love him. He had hurt his brother, he was friends with Frank and he was hurting his brother. He hated them both.

Truth be told, he hated everything about the whole situation. He hated even Gerard and how confusing it all was.

He hated himself more, he was stupid. He was so gullible. Pete had never loved him, he would never love him. It was all something fake, a big trick to keep him entertained. It was something terrible that he had let himself fall into. He didn't want to know what they would have done to him if he didn't find out when he did. He wasn't quite sure what would happen now that he had.

He took a gulp of air, terror stricken even more. Any semblance of trust he had toward anyone was now gone and he was left feeling more alone than ever.

And with the fact that Gerard and Frank were good to each other, how much had he been out of the circle on where alliances stood? He didn't want to know whether Bob had been right or not. He didn't want to see Gerard. He just wanted to sleep for a thousand years and then a thousand years more.

Pete looked baffled at him, he didn't want him to see Gerard in any state that he was in, he did not want Mikey to see his own brother, a brother who still loved him, hurt. It would kill Mikey, and it would kill Gerard, too.

Hell, even Pete might get a little freaked out. Who knew what Frank had done to him? Who knew what Frank was capable of now?

Mikey could sense that he was going to convince him to stay, that he was going to tell him that he was not going to get to go and he freaked out, he wanted to see his brother, he wanted his brother back and no one was going to stop him, not even if it was Gerard himself. He was sick, he reminded himself. Gerard was just experiencing Stockholm Syndrome and he didn't even know it. Of course, Pete thought they were fairly normal lovers, he didn't know the whole story.

He didn't know Gerard's abuse. He could never possibly know that. No one would tell him. But Mikey knew the truth, he knew the hurt that Gerard experienced. He knew how dangerous Frank was, and maybe Pete knew that too, but he had never experienced it. He had never known how volatile it was.

Mikey did, he knew what danger Gerard was in. he had to get his brother back before Frank could fuck up his life anymore, he had to find him and bring him home.

“Take me to my brother!” he yelled at him, fists balled as he trembled. He just wanted Gerard back, things would be fine with Gerard back, no one would hate him anymore and things could go back to normal.

“We can go tomorrow, I need some sleep,” Pete said, Frank wouldn't try to hurt Gerard again for a while, he knew him. He knew how he worked. He would feel bad for a while, how long, Pete did not know and he was scared to find out. Then he would hurt him, he would break again.

He was like an addict, he would relapse into the badness again. It was just a matter of time.

Mikey looked worried, worried for his brother, how he had been treated the whirlwind of the past few weeks. He didn't know half the story.

“I'm gonna call Armani,” Mikey said, taking his own phone, laying next to where Pete put his down, taking a breath and finding her contact.

Pete's fear rose within his body, Mikey would surely tell the police. This woman was in the police. Pete should have denied everything. Pete should have ran while he could.

But he knew that that wouldn't fit in his head five minutes ago when the danger wasn't imminent. He wanted to justify his friends, justify himself. He was a fool.

“Please, don't tell her I was in on this!” Pete said, taking a deep breath as he braced for the refusal that was about to come. He didn't want to flee, it would make everything so inconvenient. It would make getting Gee even more harder.

Mikey looked thoughtful for a moment, mentally cursing himself as he thought it over. “Okay, but as long as you never speak to me again, as long as when this is all over, you go back to your sick little world where ever you came from and never talk to me and Gerard again,” he asked him, eyes frosting over with tears yet to come. _He didn't love Pete, and Pete never really loved him. There was no problem with this deal._ There would be no problem with this plan. Except for when Mikey lay asleep at night by himself. He was so scared of being lonely again.

But he would not be lonely, he didn't need Pete, he didn't need someone to pretend with anymore. He had Gerard. They could forget the whole thing and Mikey could go back to school and settle down with a nice girl. He could find someone that was good enough to keep him warm in the night.

Pete was so good at keeping him warm. Mikey wanted to melt at any thought at anyone else holding him while he slept.

Mikey stood, somewhat hoping he would say no, praying he would say yes, thinking of his arms around his body. He watched Pete, thinking about it, thinking it over. It should have been easy for him.

Pete looked down to his legs, staring at the fabric on his pants before he looked up with a sigh, answering him, fatality to his heart as he heard the answer Pete gave him. “Yes.” It was as easy as that.

His heart broke again and he looked away, not wanting Pete to see the shards and glass dust that clouded his hazel eyes. He rubbed at them, burying the glass deep inside so he could look at Pete without blinding him.

It hurt him, it made the inside of his body bleed but at least Pete wouldn't do that for him. Not anymore, his walls were back up again. He would be strong again. Without anyone.

He envisioned himself again, laying in his bed, days before Ray's funeral, alone and scared and hating himself. He was terrified of going back to that.

He would not go back to that, he would not lose another person. He wasn't. He replaced Gerard with Pete and now he would replace Pete with Gerard. He would get his brother back and he could go from there. He was just scared that Gerard wouldn't fill in the hole in his heart as well as Pete did. He was sure he was content with just his brother at one point, but now he's tasted more, tasted eternity. Tasted Pete.

He looked away and he called Armani.

 


	16. So I have No Clue What this Really Is and I am Tired

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so....tired.....

Pete had packed a bag when he came back to Mikey only days before, he kept it in the closet with his other things and now he took it out to leave for the last time. It felt heavier somehow, even though he knew that he had lost some of his shirts in the wash and there was probably one just stuck under a few nooks and crannies of the bedroom where they spent most of their time. He didn't even have anything much to pack. He was stalling and although he knew it was a terrible thing to do when Gerard needed his help, he wanted to spend as much time as possible with Mikey. With the cold and reserved, Mikey.

He knew he was scared. He knew he was wary of him and that this drive would be ten times harder, knowing that he was a menace to Mikey in the stuffy car and having to sit with his judgment, but it was the first circle of hell and Pete deserved it for doing this to Mikey.

They were currently not talkig to each other, having come to the solution when they went to sleep last night, not wanting to break the silence that swallowed them whole but kept them warm. So Mikey stayed inside his own head, his own shell and he watched Pete like a hawk. Probably didn't get any sleep, what little sleep they both got being held mostly by Pete. And a good thing to, Pete was driving.

He only got less sleep than Mikey because he wasn't the one trying to understand if his brother was truly a killer or not. Pete did not want to tell him, he didn't want to anger him further. That was what Gerard was supposed to tell him. When Pete was not there to pick up the pieces.

He felt Mikey on his back, watching him, already a shard of glass in his skin, but he tried to ignore it. He couldn't ignore it. So he just pretended to. He was a liar, that was what he was. This was why Mikey hated him. Why Mikey didn't want him anymore. It was the only thing he knew how to do well.

He wanted to clear his throat, clear the misconception that Mikey now had of him, or maybe just clear his ever closing way of breathing. He didn't deserve to breath anyway. He had hurt Mikey.

It hurt knowing that he wasn't a person Mikey trusted anymore. He was just an alien, something that would kill him if he wasn't careful. He loved Mikey, he wanted to be trusted by him. But that was what he got for doing what he did. He understood if he didn't want him anymore. But it still stung like a bitch.

He thought of going back home, sleeping alone on a bed that seemed like a sea, too big, much bigger than Mikey's twin sized and curled body next to his. He didn't want to be anywhere but with Mikey. He didn't want to be anyone but who Mikey wanted him to be.

Bu this was what he was, he was a killer and a liar and he was Frank Iero's best friend. Something that cost him dearly. Mikey did not want him, he did not want himself.

He knew that this all was a bad idea. He just wished the him that agreed to it weeks before knew what the consequences would be. He wanted to go back in time, but he confessed, he would probably have done nothing differently. He would always just end up here. And that was what was so horrible about the whole ordeal, it was unavoidable.

He didn't dare look at him, blaming him for every pain he had ever felt, seeing his panicked expression through his imagination, searing the back of his neck. He knew that he was a monster in Mikey's book. That he was just another letdown in the form of a person. That he would remain that way till this mistake of a whatever they were faded into the back of his mind. He would always be a mistake. He would always make mistakes where it truly counted.

He would miss Mikey, doe eyed, galactic Mikey Way. He would miss his lover, his friend. A lump formed in his throat at the thought of never seeing him again. He just wanted to hold him, but that time was long gone.

He wanted to tell him he was in love with him, he wanted to tell him that he wanted him, needed him. He would never hurt him. Whatever happened he would forever be in love with this soft and lanky boy.

And Mikey would never love him back. Even if he had never found out about this, Mikey was just incapable of loving him. It was not his fault, you kind of get fucked with when life chews you up and spits you out like it did to Mikey. He would never be the same in the eyes of Mikey Way.

He gulped back tears, back into his eye sockets and deep into the part of him that he poured out only when he was alone. He didn't want to think of that, not when Mikey was continuing to find interest in the back of his neck. Not when he felt like an ant under a magnifying glass. Like he was burning to death from a concentrated little sun.

He knew that he was part of the hurt for his former lover. He was just another reason to hate the world. He wished Mikey the best, he really did. He wanted to help him, hold him. He wanted to make the world a better place for him. But obviously, he was not Mikey's prince, he was just the spinning wheel.

Only Mikey couldn't sleep. He couldn't stay still at all for that matter, his legs swung and his fingers played with each other. He was nervous, he was a wreck. All because of the two people he was closest to in his life.

Gerard had run away or been captured, something Mikey was starting to truly debate. And Pete had run away once, just to come back and hit him again with the fact that he was leaving and the fact that he was a liar.

Mikey had sat on his bed, things packed and ready, next to him, heavy like it was already on his back and not just something he was already regretting. It was like it was a guilt, an anchor. He was never a very good swimmer. He looked at Pete, back to him, worlds away as he thought about the well being of his recently made friend. He couldn't believe that Gerard knew him, it made him think about why Pete came, was it fate? Or was there a motive to it?

There had to be a motive to it, but who and why Mikey just had to figure out.

Was Gerard insane enough to send someone to hurt Mikey? Or maybe it was just Frank, getting back at him for snitching. He knew he shouldn't have gotten into all of this, into any of this. He knew he should have let someone else handle it and just gotten Gerard away from him. Then everything would have been so much better. Then he would still have his brother instead of fucking around and being useless as usual.

But then he had to figure out, in these already murky waters, if Pete really loved him. There was so much riding on all these thoughts in Mikey's head, he just wanted to scream and fall asleep. He just wanted to make everything stop for awhile and when he woke up he could ignore it some more.

Pete didn't love him, no, he was just acting. He was just trying to get whatever he needed out of Mikey. But then why did he leave the first time?

Was it because he didn't want to kill him? Was it because he was trying to stay away from him? Did he feel bad for it?

He looked to Pete again, who he knew knew that he was watching. They didn't say anything. They hadn't said anything to each other for hours.

It was as quiet as the days after Gerard left, or was kidnapped. He didn't know anymore. It was before Ray's funeral. When he was just hopeless and nearly homeless. Now he was just heartbroken. He was still hopeless, and his bank accounts were dwindling beyond belief.

He had to go get Gerard, and he had to go get a job.

He was going to rip his hair out with all this stress. His life was falling apart. His lover wasn't his lover. His brother wasn't his brother, he was scared for his life and he was _terrified._

With all these thoughts screaming through his ears he was terrified that Pete would kill him. He was terrified he would fall apart. He was terrified. He was terrified. He was terrified,

He had to relish in the benefit of the doubt. If he was Gerard's friend as he said he was, Gerard wouldn't let him do that. Would he? He was still his brother, wasn't he?

Mikey did not want to think about his brother at the moment. He didn't want to think of how he had changed and how that would affect Mikey. He was scared that when he got his brother back his brother wouldn't be his brother. He just wanted everything to go back to normal. He just wanted to lay down and cry and feel sorry for himself. Because everything was fuck and everyone was fucked and that was all Mikey had happening to him. He was just getting fucked over by everyone he knew. Everything was just fucked.

The story of Gerard was entirely fucked. He was messed up and put off and he had been twisted all the way around by Frank. He didn't know what he was, he wasn't even sure if he was innocent. He just knew that he had to get him away from Frank to keep him safe. He needed to keep him safe and then everything would just fall back into place. He hoped to God everything would just fall back into place.

But then he thought of Pete, beautiful, wild, his distraction and ultimate destruction. He could never forget Pete. He would never forget Pete. Pete had left his mark and deep down, Mikey knew, nothing would ever be the same. Not for him, at least. He would still miss him, he would still remember him when he went to sleep and when he woke up.

He was scared he wouldn't love anyone else. He would continually be drawn to shit that fucked him over, and fucked him up.

Mikey looked to Pete, long legs swinging as he watched him get his things. It hurt, if he pictured it as just Pete leaving. But he didn't, although he probably should.

It hurt more knowing that Pete felt nothing for him. This was the real Pete, the one who didn't want him. The one who would never, could never love him. The one who fucked him over.

It hadn't really sunk in that this was Pete, that this was who he was and what he was and this was how they would be. They would be apart. They had fallen apart and Mikey kind of wished that he would just forget it all. He was beginning to wish that his relationship with Pete was how it was only days before.

He wished he was ignorant, it was better than this.

He just pictured the sleepless nights. He just wished that Gerard could fill the hole again. He hoped.

He thought back to the deal they made, like it was an ultimatum, like Pete actually wanted to see him after this all ended. He felt a little bit stupid, he felt a little bit hurt.

He couldn't believe he had just said 'yes' like that. But Mikey knew, he knew that he was nothing to him. He was just part of a plan, part of a scheme, part of a favor for whatever sick thing Gerard and Frank wanted Pete to do.

But he still loved him, and it hurt to know that he was just a fool for whatever Pete wanted. He had trusted him and he had been let down again. He had been let down by everyone.

He wondered what sort of thing his brother would do to let him down, what expectations he would not fit, would not match. He shuddered. Was he just a terrible person? Or was he justified?

He didn't want to think of his brother making twisted plans to deliberately hurt someone. He feared what he would see when he got to him. He feared how Gerard would react to him coming to get him with Pete. Did he even want him?

Did he really want to kill that girl? Did he really want to run away? He thought back to himself, forgetting Pete and having heart palpitations over his brother's content of evil. He stared at his hands and wondered how bloodied Gerard's were.

Pete made a noise as he continued to check and arrange his things in his bag. Mikey's head whipped from his thoughts to look at him, currently still working on arranging things and taking inventory. Mikey saw a gun in there, heart stuttering as he thought about what could be done to him with that one weapon.

He blanched and he started to worry more about Pete than about Gerard.

He was terrified of what Pete would do. He was terrified of the fact that he was entirely unlovable. He was too unlovable, even for a criminal like Pete. Even for someone as corrupted as Pete. Was he a bad person? Would he ever be loved by someone he loved?

See, he loved Pete. He did, but he was scared. Obviously, he was newly terrified. But he was in love with him and it was terrible for his emotions. He didn't want to be a fool. But he felt like one, he had fallen for Pete. He was so glad he hadn't told him. He would never tell him. It would be suicide, now. With how things were going, Pete had never loved him.

He was glad he hadn't let on that he loved him before, no matter how much Pete pried, he always had that seed of doubt inside his chest.

He was right, for once he was right and his shell had paid off.

And that hurt, like a thorn in his side. Like a bullet in his hand. Like loving someone you thought once loved you back. He was right when it came to withdrawing himself, he would be sure to fall further into himself in the coming years.

He looked to Pete again, he was zipping away all his things, calm and composed and not wringing his hands like Mikey, he would sense that Mikey was looking at him if he kept it up. He shuddered, he didn't want Pete to talk to him. He didn't want Pete to do anything to him. He didn't even want to be noticed by him.

He didn't want to be in a car with him. Who knew what he would do? Who knew what he would get up to when they were alone. Mikey was going to be vulnerable for days. He shuddered again.

He didn't want to find out what would happen to him in those few days of vulnerability, he just wanted Gerard back. But even Gerard would not be the same. He just wanted everything to be the same, to be okay. He wanted them to be okay.

Nothing would be okay because everything he knew on the topic of rebuilding his life was gone. Everything had changed for him.

He took his bag, watching Pete get up. They hadn't said anything to each other the whole night. Mikey just gave him a blanket, wordlessly telling him that he had to sleep on the couch, he didn't get much sleep.

He was trying to tell himself it was entirely because he was scared but he was sure that even Pete could sense that it was because Mikey was crying in the span of sleep that the two got.

Pete heard him from the hallway, the walls were thin and so were the pillows Mikey used to stifle his cries.

He felt terrible, for doing that to Mikey, for making him feel that way. But he knew holding him would make him feel worse, and he was right. But Mikey still needed someone, and the ache of his empty arms made him cry even harder.

They both felt so empty last night, neither could fall asleep.

Pete watched the doorway to the living room, the dark hallway unforgiving, never showing his body crawl to Pete within the darkness. It was just the harsh light of the dark, bleeding into his eyes as he got a glimpse into his life without Mikey. Mikey did not want him tonight, he could handle his own nightmares. Even if those nightmares seemed to be every person in his life.

Pete let himself fall asleep with dreams of a better scenario, dreams of his hands filled with Mikey's hair. He would be so good to him, if only the situation was normal, was right.

He missed Mikey already. He was so lonely. He was always so lonely.

Maybe he could go back home, to his business. He could go back home to existing as he did before. Before things had gotten complicated.

They walked out, meeting Armani, who was standing at her police car. She looked so cool in her black jacket, not phased by the cool crisp day. She didn't seem to notice the tension between the two men as they stood, parallel to each other on the asphalt, duffle bags in hand, packing their entire existence as a couple into it.

Pete and Mikey would be taking Mikey's car. Armani would go ahead of them in her cruiser. She was going to meet up with the Portland Department to get Gerard and Frank, Mikey and Pete were just going to wheedle them out, it was all part of the plan they had constructed.

They would ambush Gerard and Frank. Mikey requested time alone with the two, though. So Pete would enter with him, keeping him safe as he talked to his brother with the privacy of Gerard thinking he was okay.

“You kids ready, that your boyfriend?” she asked, nodding to Pete. Her fists were stuck in her jacket, balled but seemingly totally relaxed.

They decided to tell Armani that they were still together, they had their deal. Armani wouldn't question it. It was a cover story for them.

Mikey wouldn't tell her if Pete just walked away. He didn't want Pete to walk away, he wanted him to love him. But this was the deal they made for keeping each others secrets. They just had to keep each other's secrets and then they had to walk away. Weeks of them being each other's only solace was down the drain. But they could never be together, Mikey had to sever all ties to this horrible fiasco. He just wanted to forget everything.

Armani looked at the two with skeptical eyes. They were more than cold to each other, anyone could sense that. They seemed to scowl at each other even though their expressions were blank and facing away. They were cold towards each other, estranged and deranged.

Mikey sighed, looking at Pete before looking back on Armani. He tried to loosen up his stance but he kept thinking back to that gun in Pete's bag. This might very well be the last road trip he ever took. It might be the last day he ever saw and it was all due to his idiocy.

“Yeah,” he said, strengthening his resolve. Pete's hair whispered in the wind, tugging away from the rest of the mass, before being blown back. If he didn't go save his brother, he was sure Pete would let him stay with Frank. And he couldn't have that happen.

She smiled at him, entering her car.

His heart started racing, he did not want to be left alone with Pete. He did not want to be alone with him for as long as he had to be. He wished he could go with Armani.

“Alright, remember the plan?” she asked, as she buckled, Pete took Mikey's bag and put it in the trunk of his car, letting Mikey discuss more with Armani.

This was his plan, this was his most important thing. Pete was just along for the ride. He was just along till he could go home again. Go home and try to forget Mikey.

Fuck, he couldn't forget Mikey.

They concluded their conversation and then she turned to Pete, waving at him as Mikey scowled back at him.

He knew he hated him, he knew he was terrible, he knew that Mikey didn't want to be stuck in the car with him but Armani's plan proved for them to be together.

Pete got in, he was going to drive, putting his hand on the wheel as he watched Mikey get in beside him. Mikey looked out the window, watching as Armani left.

He looked like she was his last ticket to safety. He clung to her with his eyes.

Pete wasn't going to hurt him, he wished he knew that. He wished that he could make Mikey feel safe again, but he couldn't. All he did was make him feel uneasy. He was not going to hurt him, he wished he would understand that.

Pete started the car and Mikey jumped. He looked toward Pete, eyes nervous. He wasn't angry anymore, he was just small. Like he was when they first met, except now, Pete wouldn't hold him in the night because Mikey was not afraid of being lonely, he was afraid of Pete.

Pete got on the highway and Mikey couldn't stand the silence. He opened the glove compartment to find his tapes. His car was old, his car was fucking ancient. So he put in something that would calm his nerves.

It was a tape he made when he was a kid. It was something that would calm him down enough to let him take a nap.

It was cold in the car. He wished he put on more layers, something thicker, maybe. He watched Pete as he drove, maybe he wasn't so bad, still. Maybe he was just a guy caught up in the wrong things. Or maybe he was just waiting for his chance to strike.

Mikey turned over in his seat, watching him as a song played on the radio, they had lost Armani long before. But Mikey didn't care. He was getting sleepy, and Pete was really pretty. Pete was pretty when the sunlight hit his eyelashes.

He loved him a lot. He was scared to tell him before. Now it would just make him stupid.

Pete looked over to him, having sensed his eyes on his face, burning into him. His own eyes softened as he saw the sleepy Mikey. His lips twitched into some sort of smile, small. Mikey looked to his eyes, lip falling into his mouth as he stared at him. He didn't do it intentionally.

Pete looked a little sad, having to glance back at the road before Mikey could see into him anymore.

Mikey might have been sitting down, but he lost his balance and he tripped right on his face. He was falling even harder for Pete.

Maybe this was how Gerard felt about Frank. Maybe he could understand how his foolish and unfortunate brother fell in love with a murderer. You could fall in love with anyone if you were desperate enough. Stupid enough.

Pete and Mikey made their way to Gerard and Frank, racing a clock with no clue as to what glowed in bright green digits, counting down the apex of our story, reader. They had no clue they were messing with fire, and that the fire was in human form and would mess right back with them.

They had other things to worry about. Bigger things? Maybe. More important things? Possibly. But what they were sure about was the stifling silence and Mikey's body, positioned ever so far away from Pete was something that could not be put off anymore. Not even in the presence of the horror across the country in the form of a new age killer Frank Iero and his 'innocent' lover Gerard Way.

Mikey was still in denial about everything except him and Pete being over and still that was being unconsciously being grasped at with his thin fingers in the middle of the night.

It was day one of their time on the road, having spanned three days, Gerard already waiting and Frank still oblivious at this time. It felt like these days were lasting a lifetime to the two wayward almost lovers, tortuously quiet and inexplicably distrustful. For Gerard, the days were too long to exist in a comfortable way.

They were alike in the sense, Pete, Mikey, and Gerard, by knowing that a. they would be split from their lover soon enough and b. that time warped them more than it warped itself.

So they all traveled on, Gerard pacing in the privacy of the guest room at night, waiting for daybreak so he wasn't so afraid of his lover and begging for the clocks to freeze so they would be together forever. So they travelled on, Pete with the knowledge that the person next to him was afraid of him, hated him, and Mikey with the knowledge that his brother may be killed at any moment and that he might be also.

The world was wondrously cruel and immensely serendipitous.

Mikey tucked his feet under his body, looking at the map as if they were a couple in a seventies movie on a road trip. He felt like they were, squinting at each other out of the corner of their eyes with blankets wrapped around their shoulders because the acquiesce silence was as freezing as the outside. They switched sometimes, Pete taking a quick nap and Mikey driving for an hour or two before they got to another gas station and they switched again.

Mikey was asleep again, night starting to reach as Pete got an idea to get under his skin. He had to make sure that Mikey stayed asleep the whole time he drove, so he drove fast and with purpose, even turning off the radio so he wouldn't be disturbed.

He wanted this to be perfect, it had to be perfect to have a better rate of success. Of course, the rate already was extremely low.

But he begged and prayed and took a few beaten paths out till it was just barren lands, surrounded by woods and darkness, clouds hanging like jeans of the atmosphere's hips. As the darkness stained the sky, turning everything to a pitiful bruise color Mikey slept on, quiet and understanding only in his sleep. Pete knew he would be afraid when he awoke, in a new place, in a place not destined for them.

Pete waited, in a field, not far from the main road, not wanting to get lost and have it be his fault, he did not know this place, he did not know these roads. He had to be wary.

He waited, hands on the wheel, watching Mikey as it got darker and he slept on. It had been a few hours, a longer nap. He watched as his eyelashes fluttered to themselves, little storms and slumped shoulders.

He was beautiful. He liked this, the seclusion of watching Mikey as he slept. It was like he was completely alone with him, like time had stopped and they were alone again. Like he was his lover again, like he was trusted again.

He knew it would never happen again, that they would never be together like they were before again. He wanted to love Mikey, he did love Mikey. But he wanted Mikey to love him back. He just wanted him to love him back.  
And he knew that that would never happen and they were doomed to fall apart he just wanted to hear him say it even if it was a lie.

He bit his thumb for a moment, mindlessly peeling at the topcoat of the nail as he watched Mikey sleep. The dark ink seeped into Pete's eyes, making everything even more darker as time passed into the night. Everything seemed smaller, more fragile as the night hit the scene that Pete was seeing.

Mikey looked more fragile, he looked like an angel.

He was sleeping with his eyes whipping through dreams behind his pale and stardust encrusted eyelids. His ski looked translucent, like glass and there were cracks under his eyes of his fatigue. Pete had caused some of this pain.

He had a odd look on his face, like he was content to just be there but there was also a pit of snakes. He slept on, soft body and an even softer countenance in a dreamland away from Pete. In an adventure where Mikey didn't need him.

He wanted Mikey to need him. But it would be netter for the both of him if he didn't, he knew that. He knew that soon they would be nothing and Mikey would feel nothing for him. He just had to set the record straight. He just had to tell him how he really felt. If he would listen.

He glanced at the clock again then out the window, the stars were twinkling their own impatience at Mikey. He was glad he was sleeping, but this seemed like too much. Maybe it was the fact that he wanted to talk to him that made the minutes stretch on like they did. It made it seem like it was much longer.

When was Mikey going to wake up? He had a rough day and Pete understood that he had a need for sleep. He wasn't exactly complaining about watching him, being so peaceful with him and without judgment. But he wanted to talk to him, he wanted to tell him the truth of what he wanted them to be. He had to lay it all out on the line.

He was getting scared, nervous, thinking about it. He knew that Mikey didn't love him, it would be a painful reminder till he died. He himself would never love anyone as much as he would love Mikey. But he just wanted to tell him that, explain himself. That was what he told himself that he wanted to do, but really, he was hoping that Mikey would forgive him and they would be fine. Then they could go back to his apartment and Pete could pay for everything with his job. The job that he didn't even have to work with.

He would have been golden if it hadn't been for being frank's friend and only knowing Mikey through Frank.

He sighed, looking out the window at the scenery he had driven them into. They were near the edge of a forest, with scary things crawling on the outskirts. He didn't want to think about those things. He didn't want to think about anything besides being alone with Mikey.

Mikey would be scared when he woke up, he would freak out. Pete would just have to calm him down.

And just on queue Mikey woke up, eyes fluttering opened as he slowly yawned, looking out the window and then glancing at Pete with an innocence and speculation.

“Pete, why are we stopped?” he asked him, voice high and scared.

Pete scared him. He was _scary_ to him. Mikey didn't trust him anymore. He sighed, knowing that what they had would never return to the same way it was. All because Pete fucked it up.

He was a terrible person and they way Mikey was growing increasingly alarmed made him feel terrible.

“Wait, Mikey,” he said to the newly terrified boy. He held up his hands, making the other man flinch as he looked at him, cowering away into the corner, seat belt still on, sleep on his eyes.

He was wide awake though, hiding from Pete in as effective away as he could. He didn't want to die. He was going to die in this car. He should have never had trusted Pete.

“No,” Mikey whined, eyes and face scrunching up as he started to cry, he didn't want to die. He didn't want to die by Pete's hand. He loved him, couldn't Pete see that he loved him? Or was he still heartless, would he still kill him. He didn't want to die.

“Baby, I'm not going to kill you. Alright?” he said, hand on Mikey's shoulder.

He didn't want to kill him, God he loved him. He loved how he felt under his skin and how his face softened as he started to feel safer, make himself feel safer.

Mikey looked like he was about to say something else. He looked a little upset, eyes flicking up, little flecks of nighttime in the sparse shades. His breath hitched and Pete moved his hand away from him, scared of scaring him.

They both looked away, sensing the awkward. Pete rubbed his neck, trying to think of a way to approach the subject of them.

But them was awkward, them was messy and there was a wall between them. Pete could sense it, Mikey could sense it. No matter how much they loved each other, they both knew that 'them' as a whole, would never be anything as good as it once was again.

But Pete just had to try.

 


	17. The Beginning of the End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am bullshitting this chapter on till I can get to the amount of chapters I need.

Mikey ended up on Pete's lap, the seat pushed back for him to sit on top of him. His back was arched in the way it always was when they sat like this. He was bending himself away from Pete, tense and terrified. He wanted him, but he was still scared. He was too scared to really move and the way his bones creaked with every single re-calibration, the entire world would notice. It was obvious.

They had gotten like this, when Mikey was still in the land of the tired, when he hadn't sensed the immediate danger again. Pete had dragged him on his lap after Mikey had fallen asleep again and woken him up when he had gotten him situated. He didn't really mean to, he just wanted to hold him.

But there was only a few blissful seconds before Mikey noticed where he was, looked up like all innocence and terror. He didn't want to be there, on him, but he wanted to. He was confusing, everything was confusing.

He then climbed off of him, not moving from his current position since. He watched Pete like a hawk, careful to stay away.

Mikey didn't feel safe, ensnared in that soft and thick smile. He knew it was slick like tar and sticky like gum. Pete was good at lying, he had to remember that. He had to not trust him again. But he wanted to, he wanted to tell him he loved him.

It was so tempting when all he was doing was trying to make Mikey love him. Even though he said he didn't mind when he didn't say he loved him back. But Mikey knew that he really did.

He wanted Mikey to love him, even if it was unintentional.

By the way he was acting, taking him closer, looking at him like that. It was making Mikey love him more, it was making him nervous. And he just wouldn't let up. It was like he wanted to fuck with him some more before he went away for good, taking everything left of Mikey in the final trick.

The way he was close to him, was like he was taunting him, daring him to say it or come closer. It was like he knew. He knew that Mikey was hiding this and it was running around under his skin. Pete was making him uneasy. He was looking at him a lot.

Not to mention he was still terrified of Pete. He was still wary and scared that he was going to hurt him and he wanted to hurt him. He didn't trust him. He couldn't trust him. He couldn't trust anybody.

Pete grabbed his hand and entangled their fingers, he stayed tense, his hand an uncurled fist, still a fist in his mind. “Mikey,” he said like he was swallowing razors, he sure as hell acted like he was. He smiled like he was bleeding from the mouth, seemingly tense under Mikey's glare.

His voice seemed toxic as he spoke, trying to make it seem like everything was okay but his smile was a grimace and his teeth were painted on.

He couldn't bring himself to be happy, holding Mikey's hand should have been enough. But he just felt his skin as pale as snow and as burning as fire and he wanted more of him than he would ever be given.

He stared at his lover, ex lover, ex lover, ex lover. He had to get used to that. He had to get used to him being a stranger. Because that was all he was to begin with, he was never anything more. He was a stranger who seemed to infest his insides, swing from his ribs. He was a parasite, he was gorgeous and beautiful and it wasn't his fault. He was just intoxicating, even if he hated Pete. Even if he was too good for him.

He stared at Pete, no mercy for someone like him, the only breed of villain that didn't seem like one. He was even more dangerous than a gun. If there was one more thing dangerous than that, it was a gun with a smile and a disguise. It was Pete Wentz.

Mikey let his hand be held by Pete. He didn't want to to talk to him. He just stared at him, unresponsive. He didn't want to say anything.

He didn't talk, he didn't know what to say and he was sure it would have just came out like a squeak in his throat. He was _touching_ him.

He didn't want to say his name back because it would burn on the way out. He didn't ever want to hear his name again. He didn't want to sit with him, on his lap, in this car. He didn't want to be anywhere near him but he only ever wanted to be everywhere with him. He wanted things to be simple, he wanted to stop having to want.

He just wanted to go home. He just wanted to get Gerard back. He wanted someone to fill the silence, fill the darkness. Pete wasn't enough anymore, Pete had stayed long enough that he just had to be the darkness.

He had slept on it and his love drunk, sleep sick, self just wanted to go home. He didn't even care about Pete anymore, all he did was fuck up his life. And he had gotten his life fucked up by too many people.

He gritted his teeth and tried to pretend like butterflies weren't fluttering in his stomach. Like he wasn't excited that Pete wanted him, like he wasn't struggling to try to get his rejection out. He was making it so hard.

“Baby?” Pete asked carefully when he didn't respond.

It felt like a stab in the back. He didn't have that right. He was making it worse. Everything worse.

“I'm not your baby,” Mikey said. His eyes were downcast and he wished he would just die right there in the car from the fact that his own words were tearing him apart. “Was never your baby,” he spit again after letting go of Pete's hand.

Pete sat up, Mikey almost falling with his momentum. He flinched, thinking he would hurt him. He didn't want him to hit him. Not when they were sitting so close. It would hurt like a bitch.

“You never loved me,” he said as a matter of fact, not even upset about it, just letting it swim out.

Mikey uncoiled and he looked at Pete, blank faced himself. It was like he was looking somewhere else. He was processing it, slowly and surely.

He looked at Mikey and Mikey bit his tongue, drawing blood. Lies hurt. Secrets hurt. He flinched again when Pete reached up to caress his face. He thought he was going to hit him.

He just wanted to tell him he loved him and he wanted to tell him he loved him even more with his next words.

“I love you. Always gonna love you.” It was smooth, soft chocolate words that cascaded down Mikey's face, smooth like boiling water. It was burning him alive.

Mikey jumped off of his lap, realizing that Pete would try to kiss him. If he kissed him, he would tell him. He couldn't tell him, he couldn't give him that satisfaction.

He couldn't give him anything. He had given his everything, even when he had nothing. He wouldn't be able to survive if he said he loved him.

“Still okay if you don't love me,” Pete reminded him with a sigh and a broken smile.

He seemed genuine. He seemed like he really loved him. But he could not believe him. He could not let him be trusted again. The walls had been built and his heart had been broken. It was too late, it was all down hill from there.

 

Mikey founded himself again on Pete Wentz's lap, this time of his own accord, having slinked on in such a risque and courageous fashion that he wasn't even sure how he got there.

They seemed to be where they were before, touching, too much for Mikey's comfort, but this time, they were kissing and he was letting his guard down. He had let himself be taken in by his arms, consumed by his being. He wasn't even scared he would wither away anymore. He just wanted to have all that Pete could offer to him in these short few seconds before he gathered his wits and walked away, or maybe just sat back down in his seat.

“Pete,” he cried against his lips, opening the cavern with his own mouth. He just wanted to inhale what he could of him, even if it was a lie. He was in anguish, sure that if Pete kept kissing him like he did he would tell him his big secret. He was unraveling him and he was hanging by a thread.

He didn't want to tell him, it would just make Pete's plan work. Whatever it was. It would give him the satisfaction of having him.

Pete answered with a groan as he felt in Mikey's shirt. This was sex to him, something to get before he killed Mikey. Before he hurt him again.

Mikey was a conquest, he was a job. Pete didn't love him, maybe he dug him but anything past that was wishful thinking.

Whatever it was he was doing for Frank, for his brother, it was something that would soon get Mikey. He was sure of it. But he would not let it get him now. He was letting him get it now and he wanted to just yank back and run away again. He wanted to retract himself again.

Mikey didn't want to die. He didn't want to die alone. He was so scared that he would die alone, he would die in Pete's arms. He would die, so close to being with someone, being loved by someone. That would hurt more than anything, an almost success.

“Yeah, baby?” he asked him and he almost choked with the fear that was in his voice. Mikey would say something to stop this, stop them. He wanted him again, wanted to feel him. Pretend that he loved him back.

He just wanted to pretend. For a little while again.

“I-” he started and then he just cried, he cried into Pete's lips, gross and wet and sobbing and an emotional mess just like the day before. He was gross.

Pete rubbed his back. Like he pitied him. Like he was finally showing some sort of emotion for him that Mikey was sure was real.

“Look at me,” he demanded of Mikey, getting him to stare into his eyes, pushing him away just to get their eyes to meet. His hands were rough on his face and he was the entire world.

Mikey tried to stop crying, silent tears streaming down his face. He thought back to their first night, the reason this all made sense. He had come to get information or kill him or whatever. That was the only reason he took the time to stay through his drunken cry fest.

That only made him cry harder. Pete didn't love him. He had never loved him.

He couldn't keep a straight face and open eyes so Pete held onto his face, taking him in his hands. “Listen to me!” he demanded again, soft and firm.

Mikey tried to calm himself again, taking a deep breath and a long blink as he tried to steady his racing emotions. He tried not to think about the bad thing. But that was so hard when Pete was the bad thing and he was staring at him.

“I love you. Baby, I love you. I swear to God I will always love you. Okay?” he looked at Mikey and Mikey opened his mouth to protest but Pete shook him. He looked in his eyes, lips trembling like he was about to cry.

Mikey just wanted to dismiss it as good acting but with the truth of the night bleeding into their conversation, he was finding it hard to.

“You don't have to say it. I love you, I know you can't say it,” he said, smiling sadly as he searched his face, so close and so far away. His eyes misted over with tears. Mikey was sure he was being serious, he was being true to him.

Mikey would never love him, but if he could bleed some of his love into him, he could at least make him happy. He just wanted to make him happy.

But he was sure that he was just making him more upset. He was a bad person. That was why Mikey didn't love him. He knew that he was a bad person. They both knew that. They just never said it. And that was why they were both breaking.

Mikey caressed Pete's face, a sad smile on his own face as he accepted his fate as being loved by a monster. He looked a bit upset at it.

Mikey wasn't thinking of Pete as a monster, he was thinking of taking off his clothes for him. Would he try to kill him?

Eh, who cares anymore? He would die anyway. He would just die soon anyway.

Mikey was so beautiful. Pete was looking at him, feeling him through his clothes as he studied his body, gentle and friendly and curious.

Mikey methodically started taking off his clothes, slow and steady, ragged breath watching Pete with his eyes dark. They were locked together in a battle of brown eyes. They didn't want to look down, they were slowly melting each other in the stare.

Pete took Mikey's hands away from the grip on his pants. “Don't. You don't-” he started. Mikey cut him off with a kiss and continued to silently get them as naked as possible in the closed confines of the car. He returned to his staring, transfixed and terrified.

He didn't know much of what was coming over him. But he just wanted to be near him again, to be with him again.

Even if he was absolutely terrified of the fact that he was near Pete in this capacity again. He was vulnerable like this. He was open like this.

Pete stared at him. It wasn't awkward, it was just silent. They were just doing this as an act of passion, a passion that was described deeply into the two beings.

But he was so blank right now, Mikey was. His eyes were wide and warbling. His body was tense and his skin was prickling with goosebumps. His breathing was ragged, the only thing he heard besides his blood pumping.

Mikey didn't want Pete to leave. He loved him. He wanted him so much. But he wanted to get rid of all the bad things. And no matter how much he loved him, Pete would always be the bad things.

They ended up naked, clothes discarded and bunched around their ankles and they sat there for a few moments, staring at each other. Just staring.

Then Mikey went in for the kill, letting Pete open him up, being the most available for such acts as topping, kissing him and his bare chest. He just wanted to be a part of him.

He would miss him.

Pete entered inside of him, letting out a groan, the only sound they had made in minutes. Mikey himself let out a little whimper a sigh at the rawness of it. There was the sting and the beauty of it, clouding his eyes and taking him further into Pete's existence. He just wanted to forget himself for a little while, for right now.

Pete steadied himself on his shoulders, holding onto the blades that settled sharply between his fingers. Mikey didn't mind that it kind of hurt. That everything kind of hurt.

It was a moment where he was strung out and restless, more complete than ever before. He loved him so much. He was going to tell him if he wasn't careful and that would be disastrous.

In that moment, Mikey was small. Mikey was so small, Mikey was fragile and the ages of hurt that he had faced in the past month spoke their whispers into his skin, creating dents in his pale flesh.

He stared at his body, slowly moving him on his dick and feeling his body with his hands, holding onto his hips as he moved around him. He was molten lava under his hands.

He wanted to cry with how beautiful he was, how small and broken he was. He loved him so much. He wanted to be with him so badly. He wanted to make him whole again and he was just tearing him down.

He didn't seem to mind. He didn't seem to care at this point. His eyelids were a pale purple, like a bruise, like the morning. He was so small. He was so small. They flickered like old lights in dingy hallways. He made a sound, low in his throat as Pete moved in him, softly as to not hurt him anymore than he had to be. Anymore than he already did.

He opened his eyes lazily, looking down at Pete who was marveling at his once lover's body. He was so glad to be able to still touch him. He was almost godlike over him, his skin having lost the sickly glow and turned into something more, something truly incandescent.

Mikey shuddered around Pete, holding onto his shoulders as he moved. His head was back but he still looked at Pete, watching him with concerned eyes, watching him with eyes that were judging how he looked at his body, quizzical and curious.

He looked like ecstasy, but he was so casual. “What are you thinking about?” he asked, moving more on Pete. Pete wasn't even focused on his own pleasure anymore, he was just relishing in the fact that this was Mikey and for a few more days he was his. He would protect what was his, even if it was only his for a few measly blinks of an eye in his life. Even if Mikey wasn't even really his anymore. But he was like and, and pieces of him still remained in between his fingers. Little bits that made all of this beauty possible.

“You're so small,” he remarked, not really answering his question. His hand worked its way onto his arm, feeling the small amount of skin that was left on him. He was thin, willowy.

Mikey was built like a bird, but if he was a bird, why couldn't he fly away? Why was he always stuck with shitty people? Shitty people like him?

He tilted his head, stopping himself to stare at Pete for a moment. There was awkwardness in the silence as they sat like this. Pete just stared at his thin body, he couldn't look him in the eye after his stupid remark.

The silence reminded him that Mikey hated him.

He looked up suddenly at Mikey. He didn't want to cry, he hated crying during sex. It was so weird, the entire notion of it, but he found himself wanting to. He found himself being near to tears at the very thought of such a beautiful creature thinking him so lowly.

“I just- I wish I had met you in some other time, in some other place. You're it for me, Mikey. And I know-I know that we can't be together. I know you don't want me. But I want you, Mikey. And I can't have you,” he said, again, biting his lip.

He was more than this, he wasn't going to cry. He promised himself he wouldn't cry. He couldn't cry when Mikey was sitting on his dick, it would be absurd.

Mikey was going to talk again, looking at Pete in the florescence of the car light behind them. It turned their skin a sickly yellow, like old paper. He was no longer a God, he was just a human.

“Shut up-Please don't don't say anything. Just get off so we can get going,” he said, his eyes following their glance downward. He was ashamed of himself. He didn't want to hear what Mikey had to say because it would only dissapoint him, it would probably make him cry.

He just poured and poured his heart out and Mikey remained unresponsive to him. He didn't blame him, he didn't want him anymore.

He just kind of wished he could be with him. He just wanted to be able to love him. Was that too much to ask for?

He put his hand on his heart, and Pete looked up at him, surprised at it.

Mikey's eyes were sorrowful and worlds away. He sat aloof and his eyes seemed to hide something, tell him something.

He was sure he was telling him he loved him through his eyes. But he wasn't so sure because in the next moment Mikey was taking his hand off of his chest and climbing away again, seas away again.

He watched him retreat into himself, having said nearly nothing for that whole time. Mikey climbed off of him, settling on his shirt and pants, still silent.

He sat in even more otherworldly silence after passing Pete his own clothing, watching as he climbed back into his pants, with some difficulty. He didn't want to cry, he was going to start crying.

He would try to hold it in till Mikey fell asleep again.

He felt ashamed, starting the car in silence.

Mikey turned off the light as they turned to the main road, and he didn't dare to turn on the radio.

It was dark in the car, darker with the silence it seemed, wider and expansive and suffocating.

Pete gripped the steering wheel like Mikey's side. But Mikey was much colder than the plastic he warmed with his hands. He wanted to cry as he heard Mikey fall asleep beside him, never to want him. Never to love him.

He didn't care if he really did love him, if he wanted to, or anything. Real love wasn't screwing people over and lying to them. He was worthless, he was nothing. He was bad to Mikey.

He had hurt him and now Mikey deserved to hurt Pete. It was just fair. It was karma.

He was tempted to get reckless, to crash the car and kill them both. But he could never do that to Mikey. He could never kill the one he loved.

Unlike some people.

He thought bitterly back to Frank, one of his best friends for the longest time. He was his best friend.

Why would he do this to Pete?

All of his relationships were terrible and train wrecks. Frank was terrible, Mikey hated him, he barely even knew Gerard.

Was it him? Was his bad choices stopping people from loving him? They had to be.

Mikey hated him. But it was so easy to love Mikey. It was so easy to talk to him and to hold him and to do his best to help fix him.

He looked to Mikey and it could have been easy, to leave him there, to go away and jump off of the bridge they were crossing. He could get to his brother, he would carry on with his life.

He couldn't do that, he had to spend every moment he could with him. He had to love him. He just wanted to love him.

But that thought of jumping off the bridge made him really think about what he would do after this was all over.

He hadn't before contemplated what he would do when Mikey went back home with Gerard. He didn't know what he could do. Frank wouldn't be his friend, he would be in prison.

He had his job, that was nice. But he wasn't sure if he wanted to continue that without Mikey. He wasn't sure if he wanted to do anything with Mikey.

As it was now, he was empty. He had centered his life around Mikey and now it was just kind of fading away. He was just kind of fading away.

He continued on the highway, lights following, close on his tail as he zipped passed everything that wasn't moving. He glanced at Mikey, he was asleep. He was able to sleep now, without holding onto Pete.

He wasn't sure if he was glad he would be okay or upset that he was getting over this easier than Pete. He wanted him to be okay, he just wanted him to be okay with him.

He was moving on and Pete was stuck, rewinding.

He watched as morning faded in on their bodies. Mikey looked sickly in the light. Mikey looked sickly in any light. Even in darkness, Pete could feel the stress and worry and abandonment on his clothes like he was a stray dog.

He was still beautiful, riddled with all the bad things, leeching at all the good things.

Mikey woke back up when the sky was higher, just touching the tips of the trees.

Pete was tired by then, himself and was grateful when Mikey said, “Here, I'll drive.”

Pete parked the car and yawned as he exited, letting Mikey shove himself into the front seat.

He didn't want to say anything to him, he was much happier asleep than he was thinking about the awkward encounter where he couldn't tell Pete he loved him back and then there was this.

At least driving was a little bit better. That meant Pete went to sleep and Mikey had time to think alone.

He sighed as he started the car back up and Pete laid his head against the window. He was out in a few minutes.

He kept looking towards him, like he was going to fly away. Like he was going to get carried away by some random gust of fate.

He wanted Pete with him, forever, at all times. He wanted to love him. He wanted to say he loved him.

He almost choked when he awkwardly let the words slip out. He didn't want to have the collateral damage that was the three words of death. He said them anyway.

“I love you.”

Pete didn't respond, and Mikey seemed to like it that way. He was asleep, he couldn't hear. He would never hear it.

Mikey might be sure that Pete loved him after that escapade, but he was still terrified to tell him. Why wouldn't he be?

There was still the fact that he could laugh in his face, that he could tell him he never loved him, never would love him and then he would go on with his life, fucking different guys over. If Pete had the capacity to know, and be friends with Frank, than he was capable of any atrocity.

He could be the worst person Mikey had ever known, and f he told him he could get laughed at. Or worse, even killed. Pete could kill him.

He shook his head, trying to focus on the road. He didn't want to think about that. He didn't want to think about all the bad things that Pete could do to him.

It was hard to believe that when the man laying next to him was slumped over to the window, starting to drool, eyes shut, relaxed and asleep. He couldn't believe he was sleeping so soundly.

He watched him sleep, as much as driving would allow him to. He furrowed his brow and he tasted the words on his lips again, feeling relieved that they were getting out in the air.

“I love you.”

God, he loved him so much. He really did. But it didn't even matter past the fact that they would be oblivion in a few days. So he wouldn't tell him that he loved him. Because it was too much of a risk. And Pete didn't care anyway.

He had said before that he didn't need him to say it, he had said that he didn't care. But Mikey could tell that he did. He could tell that he wanted him to want him, wanted him to love him.

It was ripping him apart. It was rusting out his insides and he could feel himself eroding. But he still wouldn't say it.

Then they would part ways and Mikey would forget him. Mikey would hopefully forget him. Gerard would be his brother again and fill up the hole. He hoped.

He tried to imagine himself, again, like he had been doing once every five minutes in the terrible clutches of loneliness. He would sleep alone, he didn't want to sleep alone.

At least he was close to Pete and in his dreams when he was asleep before.

In a few days it would just be them, separate, apart. Alone.

He felt tears tickle at his eyes. He was going to die alone

“I love you,” he said in a more heartfelt way. He was starting to cry. He felt his eyes start to turn into pricks of sadness.

He was going to die alone. He would never love anyone else. He would never love anyone. He was terrified. Gerard would move on after Frank.

He knew he would. He would take some time but Mikey couldn't be trailing along after his brother for years. Even if he was upset.

He had to be his own person and that meant his own relationships, falling in love. But how could he fall in love if the only person he semi-trusted was the only one he could?

He was fucked up and he was screwed. He was terrified of dying alone. He was horrified of being alone. He would have to die alone.

He loved Pete too much.

Was he over reacting?

No, he couldn't be. Even if he got over Pete there was still the fact that he didn't even trust himself anymore. He could never love anyone. There were too many walls up now. He had knocked down all the others and now there was just this.

He was sure he was going to die alone.

He looked to Pete again, he was lightly snoring with the way he was slumped. He looked comfortable, he looked like a person who wasn't caught up in anything terrible.

He envied Pete, he envied him for all his certainty and all his love for him, real or fake. He just wanted to be someone like Pete. He just wanted to be with Pete.

He had wished he had sex with him before, than maybe he could give himself some closer. He wouldn't touch him again. He had missed his chance.

He was going to explode if he didn't tell him he loved him before they left for their separate ways. He would have to live with that, days, and years and decades and his whole life time.

He would kill himself if he didn't tell him. He was too scared to tell him.

“I love you,” he sobbed, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles, purer and less diluted than he would ever be.

Was he a bad person? Was he a selfish person for harboring his love?

He must be. He knew that it cut Pete up inside when he didn't say it back. Or at least he wanted to think that. He wanted to think that Pete really loved him and wanted to be loved by him.

But he could not bring himself to truly say it. He had come to terms with it, he had said it out loud, but he could not say it to Pete.

He had been too fucked up within the past month to ever display emotions again. He was sure that this would leave him scarred for life. And that was probably an understatement.

But he wanted to tell him. He had to tell him. He had to let him know that whatever this was, it was a journey. It was a journey that Mikey did not quite appreciate but a journey that seemed to make him human for a little while again. And for that he was thankful.

But he was terrified. Looking back on the cold and silent days alone in his bed before he met Pete was the worse time he could have. But when he was being held by him, holding him and smiling at him and talking to him and just being with him, he felt more alive than he had in years. He felt free when he was with Pete. He felt like he could exist and that he didn't have to be scared.

But then Pete turned out to just be an anchor, pulling him deeper into the blue of the ocean that was so vast yet so suffocating at the same time. He had fucked him over.

“I love you,” he said again to the nothingness like a heartbeat. Nothingness was what he was becoming. Nothingness was his future best friend. Nothingness was the new Pete.

He was scared of falling asleep alone, falling asleep without Pete and waking up without Pete. Every night, every morning would be hellish. He would be reminded again that he had fucked shit up for someone he loved, or had gotten fucked over himself.

He began shaking as he thought of his lonely grave and his lonely funeral and his nothingness. He was the nothingness. He was terrified of the nothingness.

He sobbed, trying to quiet himself as his body quivered at the thought of the darkness just taking him in. He didn't want to lose Pete, he needed him.

It was the only way to feel alive anymore and if you never felt alive, then you might as well be dead.

Pete slept on in the passenger seat, unaware that Mikey was having a breakdown, driving down the freeway.

Pete could sleep without nightmares. Mikey could never escape them.

 


	18. Raw (Otherwise Known As Pete, The Sky, and the Reason he Was Disenchanted by Everything)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a shameful filler chapter. Sorry, and it's a total mess because I had a lot of thoughts I wanted to convey to the page.

Mikey and Pete were in the car, stifling silence as if they were two corpses, driving down the highway.

But they were people in love, people entangled and they were beginning to see that the only way the knot could be solved was to be severed.

They didn't speak, they stopped for gas and food once in between the time of then and now and that was a minimal speaking encounter. There was almost no speaking in between that besides to relay directions. Mikey went in for snacks, Pete stayed to fill up the gas tank, dangerously low.

They had sat in a car, love between them and no words being spoken by either man. It felt colder than ice in the frigid box, winter outside and hell on the inside.

They knew what was coming with any given mile driven on the road. They were fairly new to the entirety of this situation. It was like it was just setting in. Like they were frozen from shock. Everything was changing and both men were knocked on their asses from the whirlwind.

Pete wanted to say something, but he always found an excuse not to. Little bets, little deals with himself. Pass six green cars within this song and you'll get to say something to Mikey. They hadn't passed a green car since dawn.

Not have any car whiz by while waiting at a stop sign and you get to say something, anything. But no car came to his rescue and Pete suffered in silence next to Mikey. The radio played a dull static in their ears. Neither dared turn it off.

If he did get to say something, if the stop sign was so merciful as to let him, he had no idea what he would say. He was angry, but mostly he was dull. He was numb. And Mikey was blinding. Mikey was burning him alive.

The frost was on the windows and Pete made little pictures in the window, watching them glaze over with nothingness every few minutes. He didn't dare move anything past his fingers. Hs muscles were locked in fear that Mikey might see him, moving. He wanted to disappear.

He rubbed his face, bored and sitting in the passenger seat of a car on fire. He should have been more grateful that he was at least spending time with Mikey, precious time. Time that he should have been relishing.

But he was squandering it with his bitter love for the man sitting next to him, driving the car farther and farther into the end of his life.

Mikey had no idea. And Pete would never tell him.

He would be gone soon, he decided that as the morning passed. He accepted it, serenely, almost as if it came to him in his sleep. He just knew that it was the only decision for him. This whole experience had drained him to a dramatic extent. He was just going to be a shell, and he knew that. So why not just end it?

No matter how much electricity ran trough his body every time Mikey moved, touched him. Talked to him. Albeit, now the current was low, the current was nearly stopped. There was still the little bit of charge. But it was not enough, Mikey was not enough to kick start his will to live. And in a few days he wouldn't even be there to do that.

In the middle of the night, Mikey had grabbed his hand, taking it in his own, limp yet so strong. It meant a lot to Pete. But it was making him want to die even more.

Mikey didn't seem to mind. He didn't seem to be phased. Pete was just something temporary to him. Pete was nothing to him.

He should have stayed home when he had the chance, gotten away from his spidery lover when he had the chance. He was a trap. He should have stayed back when he had the power to, he had been able to snap his fingers and make Mikey's world disappear, now all he was doing was squandering the hope of being okay again.

But Pete did not mind being ensnared by him. He was much to beautiful. He was so lucky to love him. He was like honey, he was like a bee sting.

His eyes were golden in the morning, skin smooth and sloping, soft. All hard edges and wild hope. He was the sky. He didn't see Pete looking at him, he didn't realize that their hands were entwined and that Pete was awake.

He had no idea that Pete loved him like he did. He had no clue that he could.

Pete was a monster, surely. Something bad, something incapable of loving. He was bad, nothing compared to Mikey. The masterpiece of Mikey.

But Mikey was so easy to love and Pete wanted to maintain the fact that he wasn't all bad. Even though it was wishful thinking. To Mikey, a monster was a monster. So that was all he was seen as.

That was another reason why Mikey would never love him. He was bad and only Mikey could truly see the extent.

Mikey glanced at him, a slight head turn to gauge what he was doing and effectively making the connection stop. Pete let his eyes go downcast, Mikey was good. Mikey was pure.

“I'll be gone soon,” he said to him, and with what was on Pete's mind it was hard not to think to that. But he knew that he was too excited about getting his brother back to make a fuss over a fling. He would not be killing himself, his life was starting back up again.

“I know,” Pete said, biting his lip in anticipation to what his almost lover would say to him. He wondered what he meant, and why he said that. He almost wanted to allude to what he would do. He wanted to mock him for what he had done to him.

The silence had been so complete, so absolute that Pete wondered why he said it now. Why he broke it with something so trivial as that was puzzling to Pete. He wanted to see what he had to say next. Or if he would say anything at all.

Mikey cleared his throat, Pete having risen into a sitting position, more alert in watching him closely. He wanted to see where he was going with this. Or maybe he just wanted to hear him talk. Yeah, the last one was probably the right one.

He would do anything for Mikey, he thought he was the world. He was the sky.

“Back home. I just-I wanted to make sure that you were okay with all of this, y'know? Like I worry about you, if you'll be alright. Because I won't, but I know that you won't have anyone. So that'll make it harder for you. I'll at least have Gerard,” he said, shrugging, not even looking at Pete in his little speech.

He felt bad for him. He pitied him because he would be lonely. He felt resentful for that, that he had given Mikey his all and it backfired.

Pete wanted to be angry, he wanted to be angry because he was right. He was bitter. Mikey had something, Mikey had someone. Pete had nothing, no one. Pete was a shambling corpse. Even when there was drama in his life, he was barely involved in it. He was nothing.

He furrowed his brow. “You're not my life, Mikey.” He was rebuffing him, trying to hide that he was in denial. Which showed him even more that he was in denial. It was a losing battle.

Mikey sighed, wiping his face as he passed a slower car. He turned to Pete, briefly, the doubt showing in his eyes. “Pete, I just don't want you to feel bad after all of this. I know what it's like to be alienated from everything you know. I just don't want to be the person to fuck it all up for you.”

He had a condescending tone and Pete never more wanted to fall asleep. Or maybe die.

“Shut the fuck up, Mikey. I won't fucking off myself after you go back home,” he said. He crossed his arms, sighing like a moody teenager.

He was acting like one, getting defensive over something like this, getting angry at Mikey.

Mikey was just trying to help. But Pete was sick of help, he was sick of being some side character in all of this. But there was nothing he could do except feel sorry for himself. There was nothing he could do besides feel bad for himself and stop others from doing.

That was the most sickening part. The only option was a terrible option. He was getting fucked over and he was starting to feel the effects.

Maybe it was karma. But no, he wasn't as bad as Frank.

Maybe Frank was just getting his karma later, maybe in a few years the ruining of his life wouldn't be so monumental. Maybe he would get what he deserved. He was Pete's best friend, but he ruined his life.

He just wanted this to be over, time with Mikey or not. It just made him feel even more guilty every moment he spent in that car.

“Look,-” Mikey started, much too calm for Pete to deal with at the moment. He didn't want him to keep talking, he just wanted to shoot himself in the head. He didn't want to feel the anger that he did, coursing through his veins, cursing in his brain.

He didn't want to be filled with the bad. He didn't want to be filled with the hate. He just snapped.

“You 'look', Mikey! You're getting your brother back, your getting the bad guy in jail. You're getting everything you ever wanted from the start of this escapade and I end up with nothing. So if you're not gonna say something that I want to hear, shut the fuck up for the next few days. I don't want to hear it,” Pete scowled at him, wishing he could just fall asleep. Or maybe die.

Mikey bit his lip, as if he was refraining from saying anything. He so desperately wanted to tell him he loved him, he so desperately wanted him to know that he cared. But self preservation forced him to do otherwise.

It was so hard, he knew that Pete was in pain, that he was hurting and alone. He just wanted to make him feel better.

Because he did, he knew what it was like to get fucked over, what it was like to be lonely and alienated. He knew that all. But Pete had it worse, because he wasn't really a victim of anything, he was just getting back to his old state, and he knew that it was coming. He was going back to being nothing again after all this something.

Pete huddled in to himself, trying to shrink away in the very best way that he could. He felt larger than ever, in the small space, magnified and ballooned up. He didn't want to be filled with this hate again. He felt dirty, he felt selfish.

He decided that it was worse to love and lose than to never love at all. He hated the feeling of looking at Mikey and knowing he wasn't going to be next to him in just a few days time.

Pete wasn't the victim, he was one of the bad guys. Or at least, someone who was bad to Mikey, at least in theory. He knew this, he knew he was bad and that was the main factor in his future. And his future sucked.

He was losing a friend, a lover, right from under his feet. He didn't deserve that. Mikey only lost a brother, he lost a brother and gained a lover. A lover who fucked him over again. The world was working against him, but for Pete, the world had turned his back on him.

And that was worse than anything. He was lonely. He was so lonely.

He felt cold, he felt like he wasn't even living his own life. He was just watching it, unable to do anything. He was just letting it happen.

Mikey could sense the feeling, the feeling that he was alone. He knew how hard it was, he was going through the same things Mikey was. He wanted to make him feel better. He wanted to reassure him.

Mikey hesitated in his next move, he couldn't tell him he loved him. If he said it out loud to him there was no taking It back and no escaping this. But he could hold his hand, he could give him support in the past few days together. Even if it was not as much as he would like to give.

It was a small gesture but it was a gesture. How effective it would be, he didn't know.

He took his hand in his and Pete thought about taking his own away in an act of spite. But he missed Mikey, when he was asleep, when he was awake, when he was like this or worlds apart. He just wanted to be able to love him, to forget everything about everything and pretend that Mikey cared and that he wasn't just some rebound. He just wanted to love him and be loved by him.

He wanted to mean something to Mikey beyond a week or two of fun. He wanted to love him. Their intertwined history and the catch-22 of their existences would have made that absolutely im-possible, though.

He felt terrible, Mikey was so nice and he was so lucky to have spent some time with him. He hoped that whoever got the privilege to love Mikey Way after him would treat him with the respect and love he deserves. Even if he was bitter about them.

He wished that he was the only future Mikey had.

He sighed, feeling the sweat on Mikey's lean hand. It felt unnatural to hold him like this. He felt alien holding him like this. His hand burned with the contact to Mikey's and he wanted to flinch away. He wanted to be able to distance himself from him. So he decided to start now.

He pulled his hand away and he wanted to start the fuzz in his head so it was louder than his stupidity. He was ungrateful for what Mikey had given him. He didn't owe him anything.

But he wanted Mikey to love him so badly.

“Mikey, I don't love you anymore,” he said, trying to get back at him, to get back at anyone.

He didn't want to love him, he didn't want to need him like he did. He wanted to just be able to pull away. He wanted so many things that he couldn't have.

It was too bright for them to be talking about this, Pete felt vulnerable, he wanted to close his eyes and melt away. He wanted to forget what he just said, he wanted to forget Mikey.

Mikey sort of flinched at this, hiding himself back from Pete, hurt that his affection was gone. He folded his hands inside of himself. “O-oh,” he said with his eyes downcast back onto the road. He wiped the hand on his pants, toxic.

Now Mikey was the one who was locked, arms stuck at ten and two, watching the road in front of him. It was all too quiet again.

Pete looked forward to the world in front of him. He was glad? for the quiet, relieved at least. But he was still missing Mikey's voice out in the air.

He missed his smile. He hadn't seen him smile in days. It was like he hadn't seen _him_ in days, the real Mikey. The one that Pete knew was unstable, clingy, and scared. But at least he was happy. This Mikey was just...There. He was like a robot. Even last night, when he looked into his eyes he saw the golden iris clogged with fear. Everything was fear, today it was just nothing.

The sky was blue, fluffy clouds, tinged with a sort of grey. It was smooth. It was free. It was blank and loose of expression.

It was like Mikey, he was bright and soaring and free and sprawling. Pete looked up to the sky, wanting to touch it, to feel it. To change it somehow to make it say something, show something.

He could never catch the sky, he could never hold it. And he would never have Mikey.

They were both so beautiful. They were both so blank.

His head snapped back to Mikey as he cleared his throat again. The radio had been on a perpetual low for several minutes. Neither men noticed. They only noticed the napalm that existed every time they breathed.

“Why did you stop loving me?” he asked him.

Pete did not miss the silence as much as he thought he did.

He looked to Pete, holding his heart on his sleeve in front of Pete for examination. He was hurt at this, Pete pretended to be indifferent.

Pete shrugged his shoulders. He could tell that Mikey was hurt by what he said, crushed by the words that he launched into his skin. He wanted to say that he wasn't glad that Mikey cared that much. He wanted to say that he wasn't ecstatic that he was hurting. But he had won, this petty battle he had won.

“I don't know. I just stopped. You never loved me. Only natural that I just stop,” he said. He was sure that would catch on a hangnail for Mikey.

It did. He didn't want to take pleasure from hurting the love of his life. He just wanted to make him feel like he did. He just wanted him to witness the hurt. He wanted everything to hurt.

“I-I-I-,” Mikey said.

Pete laughed, like curdled milk and looked at Mikey who was flabbergasted. “What? Are you gonna say you love me? Save it, baby. I don't care.”

His mind grew more cynical, the silence being taken over by jealousy and hatred and raw anger.

Mikey shut his mouth, licking his lips and thinking about all the things he could say that wouldn't give him away. He wanted to be selfish, Pete was obviously breaking, but Mikey was trying to keep himself together. Was that bad? Was he bad? He was bad.

He was a killer himself, more than Frank. He was killing Pete, he was hurting him.

But really, was he? Was he a killer? Did Pete not really care? It seemed to him that Pete did. For once, last night, Pete cared.

But is he just trying to drag Mikey through the mud again? Is he just trying to hurt him. Mikey didn't want to trust anyone. He wanted Pete to love him.

He wasn't going to cry, he wasn't going to cry. He was stronger than Pete's words, they weren't weapons if Mikey dulled them enough. They weren't weapons if Mikey didn't care.

But he did, he cared. But did Pete?

Pete watched Mikey, portrait style, head looking forward, gulping back tears like vodka. He was trying not to cry.

He wanted to feel victory, but all he felt was more anger. Why couldn't he feel victory? Why did he continually have to let Mikey dictate how he felt? He just wanted to be free.

His voice was clogged with tears now. No, just anger. He was all anger now, he wouldn't let anyone else hurt him. Not Mikey, not anyone. He had to stop loving him. He had to. He didn't want to say it. It would go back on what he said moments before. He just wanted to hurt him. He wished to god that he had the strength to hurt him, But he didn't. He wanted to be free so badly.

Mikey was the sky, Mikey was untouchable. Mikey was also polluted and he was probably being idealized. Pete realized that as he stared at the sky again. He was nothing special. He was nothing lovable.

But he was, he was everything. He was everything and more. He was radiation. He was UV rays of light that gave Pete cancer. He would kill him. He was already killing him. Or maybe just making him kill himself.

The clouds were moving quickly against the backdrop of it. It was bright, blinding. The great big ball of radiation in the sky was waiting for his body to go forward into it. It was beckoning to him, calling to him.

He closed his eyes, not letting Mikey ruin his day of idealization. His eyes grew wetter, he tried to ignore it.

Mikey hand grabbed at his own. “Don't cry. I might not love you, but I care about you,” he said. He just didn't get it. He would never get it.

Pete sighed, huffing in exasperation. He didn't want to continue this conversation. He would rather drill into his temple than continue on this path. He had had too many heart wrenching talks with Mikey for him to be comfortable with this. He wanted to just shut down. Mikey did, so Pete would.

His eyes opened and he looked at Mikey, all eyebrows scrunched and mouth relaxed and indifferent. His eyes weren't wet as he looked at his love. His former love?

They were just ablaze. Ablaze with anger. All the love he had ever felt for him was seemingly diminished by his bitterness. It had boiled off within the few minutes.

Mikey looked away, keeping his eyes on the road, avoiding him as well as possible in the little car. It felt smaller with each breath.

“Mikey drop it,” he said, pulling himself away from the man he was so rejecting. He was burning his hands with this. He was blasphemous. He was nothing good for Pete, he was nothing that he needed, wanted. He was bad.

He was bad for Pete. He was a mistake.

He took another deep sighing breath as he tried to not rip off his skin or set himself on fire or do anything like that.

He didn't want to be in the car with Mikey. He was tempted to just push himself out of the moving vehicle. But then he would make Mikey feel bad.

Maybe.

He was caught between wanting him to hurt, wanting to get himself as far away as he could from him, or loving him as best as he could.

As angry as he was at Mikey, deep down he still just wanted him to be the happiest he could be.

He already fucked that up, so why not do more damage to the one person he was sure had ever cared about him.

He sighed and he looked back at Mikey, who had hidden his hand back inside of his shirt. His eyes were wide for as much as Pete could see from the side of him. He still drove, knuckles white, cheeks red. But he seemed smaller, more distant from Pete.

He could recoil, so why couldn't Pete?

“Stop making me want you when you don't want me,” he said, laying his head against the window and trying to fall away into oblivion. He wished, yet again, that he didn't care.

He didn't want Mikey anymore. He probably only want Mikey because at the time Mikey wanted him, Mikey was interesting. Mikey was a new game and he was nice to Pete.

(Pete was trying to just convince himself that he was over Mikey or that he had never been in love with him in the first place, but who was he kidding? He was truly over the moon for this boy. He was just bitter and in the morning he would feel terrible for doing what he did to Mikey. But he didn't care right now. He just wanted the world to burn.)

Mikey didn't say anything. Thank God.

But he was thinking, bad thoughts, thoughts that got you stuck in a rut and killed. Thoughts that he had after Gerard was taken away.

Pete was right, he was a bad person. He should have just told him he loved him, that he wanted him and needed him. But his pride would not allow, his sense of self preservation would not allow.

Pete had given him so many things, he was company, he was a good fuck, he was shoulder to cry on. The best person in the world would have ran for the hills that first night, but Pete came back.

Mikey so desperately wanted the fairy tale to be real, but the clock struck twelve already.

He loved him, he wanted to be with him. He wanted to exist in happiness with him. Why couldn't they just run away and be happy together?

Then he remembered what Pete did, who Pete knew. Pete didn't love him anymore, never truly did. Pete was too good for him, and he was too enchanted for Pete.

He loved the idea of Pete. He liked that he loved him and that Mikey loved him back. But he didn't want to be hurt again. He didn't want Pete, something toxic, something to remind him of this, in his future. Even though the only way he could survive his future was with him.

He was being melodramatic, he knew that he was. But he loved him too much. And when he loved he loved with all his heart and never let them go.

What could he say, he was selfish. He was a bad person.

He wondered if Pete really meant what he said, if he hated him. Or if he was just angry at him.

It would be better if Pete hated him, but let's face it, he didn't want that. He wanted to be loved by someone he loved.

He was tired of being lonely. Pete just made him feel more lonely. It was the terrible truth. It would be easier if Pete didn't love him, so that they could just go their seperate ways. Mikey wouldn't hurt when he went home. Because he would have his brother and Pete wouldn't hurt because there was nothing to hurt about.

Mikey wanted him to hurt. He was selfish enough to want him to hurt. But he wanted him to hurt if he was without him. He wanted Pete to be happy, just with him.

He was bitter, pining over someone he had once thought he had. He was stupid. 

He prayed to God that this would be over soon because he couldn't live his life like this.

 

Meanwhile, just several hours later, Armani was just arriving in the great city of Portland. She was soon to walk to the police station, using her information and their tools she could find her way to the killer. She was eager to start, rushing into the place to work with the detectives who had studied the case themselves and staked out some places.

She could get to Frank and save that poor boy. And that was all she ever wanted, was to stop the harm caused by The Jay. 

Now she could, now she could get him.

With her partner dead, it was up to her to get him. It was what Ray would have wanted.

That killer was sick, Frank. God, she was right about him. Curse Ray for being so nice.

She choked up at the thought of Ray, her best friend being killed and draped on a chair, bleeding and dying like he was. It was more terrible than finding him on the floor.

Frank must have moved his corpse after killing him, mocking her, mocking everyone. Frank would pay.

He had hurt too many people. She thought back to his poor lover, abused and hurt and in a whirlwind of drama. He was so nice. He was so gentle.

He didn't deserve anything that Frank had given to him.

That boy was being held hostage, that person that had trusted him had taken him away from his home. And weeks before he thought he would be safe with him. But like Ray, had been sorely mistaken.

She worried about him, silent and gentle as he was. He would be fucked up when she came to get him. She just hoped it wouldn't mess up the case too much.

She wondered how he was doing, what was going on. She had heard of cases with hostages being treated well. She hoped that he was being treated well. She heard cases of hostages who even fell in love with their captors. She then hoped that Gerard did no such thing, it would fuck everything up for her. Not to mention it would make it harder for him to cope and even spill on what Frank had done in their time together. That was a crucial thing to get.

But Armani was sure that she would have no such luck with Gerard Way. It seemed like he would fall in love, and had already fallen in love with the murderer.

She just hoped she could save him from that monster he was living in close quarters with. She just hoped that Frank wouldn't take another life before she got to him.

Which made her think about the dreaded rumor going around her office. There had been talk around, when everyone was buzzing about the case in her office, of his hostage helping him. That Gerard Way had taken part in any of the two killings Frank was present in so far, after meeting his lover.

She hoped that Gerard was just being forced to do it. Or that would make everything just more complicated. That would make Gerard a bad guy also.

And with all this negativity and death in her life, she just needed someone to be good for once.

She grabbed the files to the case, filled with witness accounts, victim stories, profiles and the two lovers' pictures. With all the people Frank had killed and all the facts on the two people's relationship, it was large under her arm, bulging with horrors.

She walked up to the department, not too unlike her own, bigger probably, darker. The sky was grey as well, the light shining through, seeping the city with the familiar sepia tone.

She had never been in this city before and cursed the circumstances that brought her to the beautiful Northwest city.

She shivered with the image of her partner, matted hair, thick with blood. He didn't deserve that.

Frank Iero was a monster, a parasite.

She pulled her jacket farther onto her shoulders.

She tried her best to move her mind onto other things. She tried to rid her mind of all the horrible pictures she had, burned under her eyes.

She yawned, cursing the fact that she couldn't just take a plan to this place, half way across the country, but hey, it wasn't in the budget. So she had to drive.

She wondered when Mikey and his boyfriend would get here. She hoped it was soon, she did not want to wait any longer than she had to to move on the two men. 

Even though she did not exactly know where they were at the moment, that would have to wait till when she analyzed the data that the Portland PD had picked up.

She hadn't gotten a lot of sleep, kept up with the fact that somewhere in that city, Gerard Way was close to death, that somewhere in that city there could be someone dying at the hands of Frank Iero.

Rarely a case had her shook up like this. But this was personal. This was something she had to do for Ray, for Gerard, even Mikey.

She should have never even let him help out, although his help did seem to speed up the process of getting closer to the two immeasurably.

She knew that this was hard on him, it was even harder to watch him break.

He had so much shit thrown at him, she was surprised he was still standing upright. Or sleeping.

The poor kid hadn't looked right the last time she had seen him, before they all set off on their journey towards this city. He looked like he hadn't slept in years, that if a feather was dropped on his shoulder he wouldn't be able to stand up after that. She should have gone with him, but she was sure his boyfriend would have been better company than her. She didn't know him, that other boy did.

Even if they day they left they seemed to be tense around each other. Maybe they just knew that a true change was coming.

Mikey had gotten into his car and been terrified, she watched him, nervous and twitchy and eyes pooling with fear.

Gerard would not be the same when they saved him. He would be damaged. Mikey knew that, and Mikey was terrified at the state his brother would be in when he was spit back up.

She could only imagine how terrible it was for Gerard, if Mikey was having this hard of a time.

She did not want to think about how many heartless conspiracies were going around. She did not buy into the hoaxes people were trying to tell about Gerard's involvement.

Mikey must have been crushed when people tried to tell him that. She felt terrible for him, she had no idea how hard this was on him. How much he was going to have to handle even after Gerard came home.

She would see him soon, put him to ease soon. This was why she became a cop in the first place. So she could help people. This was what she was going to do. 

She was going to help people. She was going to help Mikey.

She was going to save Gerard and finally put that bastard Frank in prison. Then everyone nationwide would sleep better at night.

 

 

 


	19. Wasting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate this chapter. It's like super dense and wicked pointless.

Mikey and Pete sat in the car, stilled, air between them thin. The only sound were their breathing, the only sound was their hearts breaking, minuscule shatters as they inhaled, seconds ticking by like any moment a bomb might go off. They sat in Portland, just having entered, sat at a gas station in the middle of the day, light making the particles of the world seep into the car through rays of sun. it turned the gold of Pete's skin to burning with the light that was streaming through to his flesh. He didn't want to look at Mikey, he didn't want to see what he looked like. He would be to beautiful for him, and he couldn't handle that. He had to start weening himself off of Mikey, he wouldn't have him for much longer. He needed to get used to not having him next to him. This was the end for them, this was their world falling apart. This was where Pete and Mikey dissolved and went their own ways, whatever way that may be. However destructive that may be.

“It's not over yet, we still have to find Gerard and Frank,” Mikey said, eyes downcast, he was looking down at his own feet. He didn't want Pete to leave, he needed him now more than ever. His voice was desperate, hopeful. He needed Pete near him, in whatever way possible. Especially now. This would be a difficult time, seeing his brother and Frank. He needed someone to hold him if it all went wrong, and even if it went right.

Pete was more cynical. He was tired. He was in love with Mikey, and he wanted to be with Mikey. But he was fatigued from this journey he wasn't supposed to be apart of. He just wanted it to be over, he just wanted Mikey to stay with him, here. He knew that would not happen, and maybe he was still a little bitter about it.

“It was over from the beginning, baby,” Pete pointed out, eyes dark, he allowed them to flick to Mikey, terrified of what he would see. And how he would feel about that. Mikey always seemed to make him weak, make him fragile.

What he saw was a skeleton, gaunt and waiting, covered in anxiety. He was wracked with fear, breaths shaky and poisonous. He was falling apart in front of his eyes. He wanted to put him back together, he wanted to help him. But he knew not where to start. He was a bad person, but at least he had the capacity for the empathy towards the love of his life. The person he was most horrible to.

He wanted him to hurt, but now he just wanted to kiss it all better and make it all go away. He wanted to be the only thing left. Mikey was the only thing left. He was the only thing to fill Pete's mind. He was the only thing he could think about without going insane. He was rocking back and forth, scared out of his mind at the fact that this was happening, everything was changing and it was going too fast. As much as he wanted this, he had doubts, and it was all too quick.

“I need you, Pete,” he said, grabbing at his shoulders, an x motion. His shoulders seemed to dive into each other. He was just trying to hold himself together, that was all Pete had ever seen him do. He was clutching at the bones of his shoulders, like little birds, jutting out of the nest, ready to say good morning. Instead the suffocated, like Mikey, floundering and trying to breath, terrified, out of their minds as they wished for a merciful beginning that would not make him more tragic. Pete's arms almost fit around Mikey's body. He almost fit right with the familiarity of his lover in his arms again.

Pete sighed, knowing that he would be stuck on this wild and volatile ride for a few more hours. He wanted it to be over, Mikey didn't want him to leave. He wanted his brother, he wanted Pete to be with him. But Pete just wanted Mikey to be okay, he wanted him to be safe and that meant with Gerard and without Pete. He was kind of scared of how it would end, when the final battle was over and the dust all cleared. He knew that this was big, but right now, it was nothing more than a burden. He was so tired. He was tired of lying, he was tired of holding Mikey up in the way that he did. He wanted to love him, easy and relaxed. He didn't want to fall with the weigh of Mikey in his arms, loving him. That was how it went now, the two lovers staying intertwined with each other, sucking the life out of each other till nothing was left and things were starting to deplete. He felt drained. Pete reached a hand up to feel at the back of his head, whatever elementary type of comfort he could give Mikey. Whatever comfort he could give to Mikey without falling apart himself. He needed someone to touch him, love him. But Mikey was selfish, Mikey was something that could never love back. He existed just to take things and Pete was made to give things. But he had given his all. He had given his all to him and Mikey needed just a little bit more, just to get him through this confrontation they were about to go through, but Pete had nothing, so he was watching him fall apart.

He felt a little bad for him. He loved him and he wanted the best for him and he wanted to be with him. But right now he really just couldn't care as much as Mikey did. This was the apex though, but for Pete, it really wasn't anything. He was just tagging along for this. But it had drained everything out of him. He was so tired. He was so in love with Mikey he would stay up for two more years if it meant making him smile. He loved him so much. He wanted to please him. But nothing seemed to please him anymore. He was just panicking, he was just wishing for more time, he needed more time. Before he could not wait, but now he just needed a few more extra moments with the love of his life, the only thing that was keeping him sane, keeping him good. Keeping him alive.

He had to get to Gerard though, the person Mikey had known his whole life. His life was attempted, he was almost killed. Jesus Christ, he was almost murdered and he was dicking around in a car in the parking lot of a gas station in the middle of the day. He loved Pete, but he seemed to dilute his cause. But his skin still crawled with the thought of him leaving. With the thought of himself going. Mikey was more anxious to get to Gerard, Pete was more anxious to sleep.

“Please don't leave yet. Not till it's over,” Mikey pleaded, leaning into Pete's touch. He still craved him. He still wanted to suck every bit of love away from him. He was still shaky without him.

Pete let Mikey huddle into his arms, Mikey meeting his body with all the bad thoughts of days before on his skin, fusing himself with Pete and giving his body all the negativity. He didn't love him, probably never really did. But he was all Mikey had right then and he needed him. He was all Mikey had, so Mike accepted it, with little question. He got good at playing pretend and adapting. He was always going to need him, but he was good at adapting. But not now, he wanted him and he wanted to love him. He needed Pete but Pete didn't know the intensity. He just thought that it was another thing for Mikey to keep him there with.

“Don't worry, Mikey. I'll be here till you have to go home,” he promised him, running his hand up and down his arm, trying to soothe him as best as possible. He was shaking, Mikey rocking back and forth just trying to calm himself.

For Mikey, that was not enough. He wanted Pete for as long as he lived, he would want Pete forever. He wanted to love him. He hated the fact that they were not meant to be together. He hated that fate would be so cruel to the two lovers. But Pete didn't love him, never loved him. He wanted him to love him so badly. Maybe Pete was the one tearing them apart. He wouldn't mind it as much if Pete did it. He didn't dare look at Pete. He didn't dare let him see his eyes and how much he really needed him. He didn't need to know how pathetic he was.

Pete could tell how jittery he was, how scared he was. But not how in love he was. And it was starting to rub off on him. He was starting to worry. This was a big thing, they might die from this, he and Mikey might die, someone could die. Pete was more scared of that. Mikey was scared of losing him. They both seemed afraid of something that they wanted. He shivered, someone walking across his grave. Mikey wanted him to stay here, he wanted him to get away from him. He was a bad thing now. Mikey didn't want him. And because of that he wanted to die. Maybe the severity of the situation was good enough for him now.

“Pete, what if he's not the same?” he asked him, little twitches of his nose indicating that he might cry. He was scared of everything he was in the beginning, he was afraid of a bad change. Pete smoothed his hair back, staring at his wide eyes, terrified in themselves. Gerard would be different, Gerard would be someone else. He didn't know Gerard before, but from what he's heard he was good.

Pete was scared now, scared for Mikey. Because Gerard must have changed, had to have changed. Even if after two murders he was the same, Frank trying to kill him would have an effect. He himself was scared to see Gerard in his habitat like that. He would be twisted. He knew what betrayal did to people. Mikey would learn that his brother was a monster, that his monster of a brother was as unstable as him, and he wasn't sure Mikey could handle that, he looked so fragile. Pete was afraid that Mikey would learn that Gerard was in love with Frank, that he wasn't as innocent as he seemed. That. even if he could hide that, he couldn't hide the fact that he was scared of everything. He wondered if Mikey could handle Gerard if he needed someone to take care of him for a while. He was worried about how he would react to his brother. But Mikey was worried about Gerard being bad. He was worried more about his brother than himself. Or at least what his brother got up to. He was worried about the one thing that had so ripped them apart in the first place. Something that Pete really hoped he didn't believe.

“Pete, what if he liked killing people?” He held the words away from his body, harsh and sharp on his tongue, spoken like blasphemy, ringing in his ears. He didn't want to say it out loud, if he said it out loud it was true. He hadn't spoken aloud of this fear before. He didn't want to address it, and he didn't want to jinx it. What if he was a murderer? What if he had become like Pete, like Frank? Could he be able to see the rot and the blood on his hands. Pete felt another pang of fear as another lie had to be made for Mikey, covering him from something that could harm him. He was slowly beginning to realize, he had no idea how he could lie to him like this. It would require a huge facade. “No, no, baby. Gerard is good,” he said, trying to reassure him that Gerard was still the same person he knew. But he knew the truth. He knew what really went on. Mikey could never. It would kill him. Pete had no doubt about that. But could he pull it off?

“Did-Did Frank treat him well? Does Frank really love him?” he asked, swallowing back more fears and even more tears, fighting to break through and wash away the tribulation that lay within his eyes, in his sunken cheekbones.

“Yeah, he does. He loves him with all his heart,” he said, soothing him. And he was so happy that that was a truth. He was so tired of lying.

“Okay,” Mikey said, nodding. This did not quench his fears of Gerard being a murderer, it heightened them, but at least he knew his brother was kind of safe. At least he knew that Gerard was not going to come back a nervous wreck. If Frank loved him, he had to have taken care of him. But really, that was just an estimation. That was just a hope.

What did Pete know? Frank was a murderer. He might not even have the capacity to love. Maybe it was just a mix of a lie. Pete only knew his surface, Mikey had seen him at work. That brings him to his other thought, his explanation, his fear. He had hurt Gerard before, he had beaten and abused him, the night that Mikey confronted him. It seemed worlds ago. He hoped that his brother was safe. He hoped that he wasn't too fucked up from this ordeal. He didn't think he could handle that, if his brother was a mess. He couldn't take care of him. He just needed things to be okay. He just needed things to be good again, and that depended nearly all on Gerard. It depended all on Gerard. And maybe the factor of Pete staying away from him once that all was over. That was the only effect Pete seemed to have in this situation.

As of right then Pete had no effect on him anymore. He was tainted now, he knew that he was a bad thing, part of the bad thing. He would never be his lover, even if he wasn't a threat anymore he was always going to be something foreign now that he knew who he really was. He would always remind him of the bad thing. And that was why he couldn't quench his fears. Mikey didn't know him, Mikey didn't trust him. He needed Gerard to feel whole again, he needed his brother back. But he was still scared. Even if he wasn't a killer, if he wasn't messed up, he would be different. This thing had made them all different. He didn't want them to be different. He wanted to revert back to what they were before, brother and brother, just moving in together.

Frank had fucked that up, Frank had fucked up his brother. Frank had fucked up his life and how he saw him.

Now Gerard was bad. Gerard was one of the bad things now. He would see Frank's hand prints on him, like x-ray vision, like hatred. He loved his brother and he wanted to see him, but he knew, in the back of his head things wouldn't be the same. Because they were now not the same. He just wanted them to be the same. But that scared him. That terrified him. The fact that they wouldn't be, that they might never be. He wanted his brother, he wanted him safe. He wanted him the same.

What if Gerard wasn't the same? What if he never was? What if he was never what Mikey thought of him and this was just his big reveal? What if Gerard actually liked killing people? If Frank really loved him, than he had to really love Frank. He had to know what was going on. He had to know that Gerard was still Gerard. He was beginning to doubt that Gerard was Gerard. Even though he was now the only steady thing that he had.

If Frank loved him, if Frank was in love with him than Gerard had to be with him. They were together, he was with him. He had to have killed. If not for pleasure, but for survival. He couldn't have been okay with that, he couldn't have just sat around and let him do that. He was too gentle for that. He must have killed. His brother killed, and his brother must have liked it. He thought back to that girl, that little girl, no older than a blooming flower, blonde hair stained with violence, the color of murder and passionate impulses. He had slit her throat, put his sign, right next to Frank's. He was a killer, he had hurt her. And he liked it. Because he loved Frank. And Frank loved killing.

He was going to throw up. He didn't believe Pete, his brother was a murderer. He wanted to believe Pete. He suppressed it, he suppressed his brother's differences, he ignored them. He felt sticky in Pete's arms and everything seemed to move slower than he thought it did, moving in his mind, fast, yet oh so tedious. Everything seemed too slow, too sensitive, like every moment was another nail in his coffin. Every second was another shovel of dirt on his casket. But he could not wait for that casket to be covered, he needed to get to Gerard or else this pain of waiting, this suffering, would continue for longer ungodly times.

He knew that Gerard was now the bad thing, like Frank, like Pete. And he just had to see how bad the damage was. He felt like he was drowning, his throat was so dry. He felt like dying. He wanted to run away, he wanted to fall asleep, he wanted to jump off the cliff.

He wanted to

He wanted to

He started breathing, harder, faster, louder in his ears.

Gerard was

Gerard had

He was a killer. His brother was a killer. He wanted to have hope. But Gerard. He was a

He held onto Pete, something sturdy, the ground was moving and he wasn't even touching the dirt. He couldn't stop thinking about his brother. About that girl, all the clues and all the signs. All the things that now make sense. How many other people did he like to murder? How many other people had he killed? How many had he wanted to kill? He suddenly didn't want his brother.

He knew what Pete had done and what he was capable of. He knew that he was bad. He knew. He knew. But his brother, was scarier. The contrast of his brother, of his friend, lifetime acquaintance and role model. It was too much of a stark contrast. He was a killer. But Pete, he had gotten used to Pete. He could never get used to Gerard. He suddenly didn't want to live with him. He didn't want him anymore. He just wanted to go back home with Pete. Pete was home now. But he still held hope, stupid, trusting hope. Things would go back to how they had to be, they would go back to Gerard being a good thing and him being happy. They could forget this ever happened and that they both were good people. He could go back to college and he could live with his brother and he could love his brother and he could relax again. There would be no killing, ever again. He didn't want to relax again, he didn't want to. He was terrified. His skin stood straight up, hair raised like razor blades. His brother was bad, everything was bad. Gerard would come back home and he would kill him.

He was going to die soon. He didn't want to die. He was tempted to take Pete back to New Jersey and just exist there for the rest of his life, Frank could have Gerard, he had already twisted him to his needs. He just needed someone. And Pete wanted him. Pete was good to him. Pete was the best lie he had ever been fed. Pete would be easier, Gerard was unknown. Gerard was new territory. He was something old, something tainted. He was something twisted and Mikey was too lazy to twist anything back to his liking.

Everything was tainted. Everything was bad. Everything was gross. He was scared, he was petrified. He didn't want Gerard to be bad, he didn't want anything to be bad anymore. He just wanted things to be over. He just wanted to be over. He closed his eyes and focused on Pete. Pete holding him, Pete strong, and Pete in the grocery store in the middle of the night, loving him, Pete stable. Pete killer.

He couldn't get it out of his head, he couldn't get anything out of his head. It remained there, like something dead behind a couch, like the smell of roadkill. He tried to focus on Pete again. Pete was his, right now, Pete was in love with him. (Or he could pretend.) Pete was nothing like his brother, Mikey had him figured out. But he couldn't get over that.

He couldn't get over the uncertainty. He needed to know if he actually wanted to save his brother. Because if he was a killer, if he liked it, Mikey wasn't sure if he could let go of that. He wasn't sure if he really wanted his brother anymore. He wasn't sure if getting rid of Pete, if getting back his brother, was really the safest, or greatest, option. He looked to his lover, eyes wide and mouth quivering.

“He killed people, didn't he?” Mikey asked. His whisper was harsh, mouth just barely moving. He didn't want it to be real. He didn't want all of the bad things to be right. He felt Pete sigh under him, like an apology, like he was trying to stall and create another lie. Mikey felt air leave his lungs and bile come into his throat as the silence went on. That would change everything, and Mikey was so tired of change. He was so tired of things being uncertain, up in the air. He so desperately wanted to fly when he was a child. Now it was just a fear of his.

“He-Gerard, he-” Pete floundered, trying to explain it to Mikey. He was failing.

“Tell me the truth,” Mikey muttered, almost to no one in particular. Inside he was begging to hear what he wanted to, and have it be true. He was desperate for something to be good. Suddenly, he wanted to let go of Pete less. Mikey started crying, tears streaming down his pale and scared face.

“Pete, he's a monster. He's a liar, Pete. He's just like you,” he said, eyes watering with the thought like his brother was all the people wh had betrayed him, his brother who was supposed to be the one good thing that he had. Pete pursed his own lips. Mikey had said he was bad he was a murderer, he was a betrayer. He was like his brother, and his brother was making him cry. He was a bad thing, he was lumped in the category of Frank and Gerard. He didn't want to be a bad thing anymore. He licked his lips and looked away from the crying Mikey for a while, just for a moment.

He was still holding his lover, he was holding him in his arms loving him with every once of his body, even though he didn't love him, even though Mikey didn't know he loved him. He just wanted to be good at loving him. He sighed again, he would have to lie. He would have to be a bad lover to be a good one. Mikey couldn't handle knowing his brother's monstrosity. He needed some security, and Pete could never do that for him. Only Gerard could. He had to keep Gerard pure for Mikey, or else his already broken lover would fracture even more. He had to lie to him. He wondered if he could do it.

“Baby, Mikey, baby,” he tried to say, wrangling his lover's emotions and his attention. Mikey's arms were around his body, tenacious and gripping onto him. He was something stable, but he was going away soon, he couldn't be something for Mikey to rely on anymore. He had to make Gerard seem good. Because Gerard was good, Mikey just had to believe that.

“Pete! He's bad. He's my brother and he's bad. Everything is bad, Pete,” he panicked, wrestling his arms away from Pete. He held onto his face, sticky and tears streaming down his face as he worried, brown eyes wide and looking at his lover. He was falling apart in front of his eyes and he needed to take care of him, he needed to stitch him together to give back to his brother.

“No, baby. He's good,” he tries to scream over Mikey's fears.

“No. No! He likes killing,” he said, huffing his breath as he went quiet again. He took in a deep breath, feeling the words seep into his skin again. He was taking it in, slowly.

“No, baby. He hates it. That's why Frank tried to kill him, because he wouldn't kill,” Pete said, a brilliant lie concocting in his mind,

Mikey stopped for a moment, stopped struggling, stopped crying and started to think about Gerard, about how he was. He wondered what it would be like to take a killer home, to love him like a person. Murderers weren't people, they weren't anything like them. But could Gerard be? Would he continue killing? He had that thought, seeping in the back of his mind, like Pete. It was something that could just happen, in his sleep, violence and silent. No one would know. He shivered in the heat of the car and Pete's arms. Gerard could just do it, he could just kill him. Would he kill Mikey? That would be worse than Pete, because with Pete, there was no added fear of instability, there was no clear grudge besides Frank. But with Gerard...

He would take him away from something he knew, take him away from somone he loved and someone who loved him. Now it would just be resentment for his brother, resentment for what could have been. Mikey was beginning to be more scared of Gerard than he was of Pete. Something he thought could never happen.

“But-But, Pete, he had the symbol-that girl, Pete. Tell me he's a good person," he said, wheezing every breath that he took into his body. Pete took his hands into his own, feeling them limp as Mikey stared at him with innocent eyes. he couldn't believe that his brother was a killer, or that even he wasn't when everyone else was telling him he was.

"Shh, baby. Gerard would have died if he didn't kill that girl with Frank," he said, sympathetic look on his face. He had no idea he was so good at lying. He kind of had to be, but with Mikey he was the most honest he had ever been, even through all his lies, in all the cover ups.

He just wanted Mikey to be happy and he wanted Mikey to be whole. And his lies were the only thing that could fill his empty soul anymore. And Mikey was so empty that the only thing that could fill him was the promise of a better life and a better lie. Mikey needed better, Mikey deserved something that was more than Pete and more than Gerard. He didn't deserve the shit that he was put through. So Pete was trying to make up for that. He was lying to make up for that. He was glad Mikey didn't catch on. He was glad that he believed him. Mikey was drying his tears, taking his hands away from Pete. He looked at his lover, confused eyes, dazed expression.

"I need you, Pete," he said again, anguish in his eyes. "I'm here, baby boy," Pete assured him, nodding his head and looking in concern at his lover, eyes as wide as his. He sounded pained, like he was going to split apart with the idea of Pete being away from him. But the truth was, Pete wasn't leaving. Pete wasn't going away from Mikey till this was all over. Till he didn't need him anymore.

All he needed was Gerard, he needed his brother, the person he started with. He didn't need Pete, he never needed Pete. He just needed someone to cry on, someone to use. Pete wanted to be used. He wanted Mikey to use him and spit him out again. he was glad that he let him do it.

"No! No, Pete!" he started crying again. He was yelling, arms flailing as he tried to get a point across. Pete didn't get it, Pete didn't understand that he needed him, not just now, but forever. He loved him so much, he wanted hm forever. He would never love anyone else as much as he loved Pete. He didn't want anyone else. He didn't want his brother even, he knew Pete. He loved Pete. He loved Gerard, but Pete wouldn't leave him. Pete loved him, too. Or at least he was good at pretending. And Mikey didn't mind pretending himself, he loved him. And he knew that he didn't love him. Or. maybe he did. He was confusing, but he was stable. He was Pete.

"Shh, baby, calm down. I'm here, right now," he said, smiling at Mikey in reassurance.

"I-Pete, but I need you, forever. Forever, Pete. I don't even care if you-if you don't want me," he said, starting to cry again. He was just scared of the change, he was scared of Gerard. He was scared that Pete was lying. He had lied before. He was probably lying now. ut he just needed someone to tell him that all his fears weren't real. He knew Gerard was probably bad, he just needed to pretend that he wasn't. Pete was so good at pretending.

"I want you, baby. I want you," Pete whispered to him catching his lips in his own. Mikey let himself get kissed by Pete, fall into Pete. His lips were soft, and his body was wide and he could just squeeze himself inside again, fall into his place again. He knew that he was going to have to climb out again, and that Pete didn't want him in there anyway. He didn't love him. But he was still good at pretending. He was being so nice to him.

"Tell me-" Mikey floundered, holding his own muttering lips against Pete's as he looked into his eyes, so similar to his own, so much better than his.

"Tell you what, baby?" Pete asked him, rubbing his back, his thin, protruding spine. Mikey's lip wobbled, shivered and shook with the weight of the words he didn't want to say. He looked down, mumbling his request in the ear of shame.

"Lie to me again. Tell me that you love me."

Pete kissed the shell of his ear, holding him closer to him, shifting him further onto his lap, Mikey's folded legs being traced by his wandering fingers. "I love you, darling," he whispered against his neck, skin slick with perspiration and honesty.

He wanted him to know that he did. He wanted him to know that he was okay with him. He wanted him to know that he really did love him. He wished Mikey knew that it was true. He wished he hadn't fucked it up. He wished he wasn't selfish and just wanted what was good for Mikey. Mikey deserved good. Mikey sighed against Pete's tattooed skin, held against him with silent and hidden ferocity. He wanted it to not be a lie. He wanted to be a good person, good enough for Pete to love him. He wanted to keep him. But this was the same pain that had plagued him through out the past few days, or more likely, all of the night before. He wished that he wasn't as confusing. When he finally thought he figured out that he loved him, he went back on his word. He hated him, but he was so patient. Maybe it was just because he was a really good person. He was a good person and Mikey was not.

Maybe Mikey was more like Frank than even Pete was. He shivered with that thought, burying himself farther into Pete's skin. He was not bad, he was not that bad. He was selfish, and he was terrified, but he was not bad. And neither was Gerard. At least that was what he continued to tell himself, nestled up against the most stable person he knew, after evaluation of how his brother really was. The silence was loud and the sun really seemed to make it louder. But Mikey yearned to just sit for a moment, feel calm for a moment.

"We should go meet Armani," Pete mumbled against the back of his neck, vibrating the skin with his muttering lips. Mikey wanted to slap him. Or shut him up. He just needed this moment and Pete had to go and ruin it? "Shh. Just another few moments, I just need you to hold me for a few more moments," Mikey said, grabbing onto Pete's arms, strung across and around his body so gently. Pete shut up at Mikey's gentle request, enjoying the silence session they were having now as well. He wished that he could take back what he said the day before, what he said to make Mikey hurt. He loved him. He loved him with all of his quickly beating heart. He loved him. He yearned for Mikey to love him back, to say he loved him back. But at that moment he didn't hold it against him.

He just needed someone and he didn't need the stress that loving someone back brought. But after a few more moments of sitting in the brightly and naturally lit car with him, he could not ignore the fact that they were five minutes late meeting Armani then the time they set up during a phone call they had when nearing the city. "We have to go, Mikey," he reminded him, gentle and firm. He couldn't ignore this forever. Lord knows that Pete wanted to. He would give anything to have Mikey forever.


	20. Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the last! Sorry this went really long, I had nothing to do all week and felt like writing way too much way early in the week.

Mikey was jittery as Armani opened the door for them, gun and key in hand, she looked in, minutes ticking by as she searched the place. Silence stretching like water over their skins.

Pete and Mikey stood, hand in hand, desperation clinging like perspiration to both of their clothes. The moment Gerard and Frank showed up in that apartment, it would be over. They would finally be over. And Pete could go home and sleep off the loneliness that would catch up to him soon enough. He was much more set than Mikey was in this feeling. Mikey was still undecided.

Mikey was fluctuating, he was too busy worrying about his brother that he didn't have as much time as Pete did to just worry about this. He, no matter how much he had thought about that very thing, he wasn't sure how he felt about it. If he was happy, he was getting Gerard. Or if he was hurt because he was losing Pete. Maybe it was just fluctuating in the sinking in. Maybe he would go home and Pete not being there wouldn't matter because the air wouldn't be so thin and the darkness never so complete. He was confused about that, but he was still gripping Pete's hand like he was hanging onto his life. He liked holding his hand, he knew that much. Would he miss him? He wondered if the world was going to end without him like his heart thought it would. He wondered why he was still worried about Pete, the confusing Pete, when his brother would be seen by him for the first time in a month in only a few short hours.

He was so scared to see him, he was so happy to see him. He wondered if he would be hurt, he wondered if he was going to be scared of everything. If Frank had fucked him up beyond belief. He wondered where they were and what they were doing right at that moment. He wondered if his brother would still be his brother when this all was over and he was coming home. He hoped that his brother was okay. He hoped that he was still a human being. Mikey couldn't hold him up when they got home. But maybe they could help each other, maybe they could lean on each other. He needed someone if he wasn't going to have Pete.

He was so excited to see him, but he felt like throwing up at the thought of Frank. Would there be a possibility that Frank got more volatile, more scary? What would Frank do to Gerard when he saw Pete and Mikey sitting on his couch? He shuddered at the thought, closing the space between him and Pete with another hand squeeze. He was comforting, even if he was unconsciously doing it. What would Frank do when he saw him? What had Frank done in the span that he did not know him? He knew of what he did, killed all those people, hurt his brother, hurt everyone around him. But he had never really seen him in his most true form. He had never seen him out in the open as a killer. He grew even more terrified. The man next to him, the person he really didn't know was much cooler. He just looked like he was thinking. He looked so much more calmer. Maybe it was the fact that he was friends with Frank and Gerard, he knew how they were and what they did. He was much more in the know than Mikey was. He wondered if he was resentful of that, or if he was just a bit upset by it.

Pete felt his hand being grabbed by the wiry figure next to him. He looked to Mikey, who's eyes were wide and ahead of him. He knew that he was scared, he knew that he was terrified of this. He wanted to be able to calm him down, anything that comforted him was something that Pete yearned to do. He just wanted to love him, for a little while longer. Pete didn't mind, he just looked at him, checking if he was okay. This was as big for him as it was for Mikey. Mikey was getting Gerard, he was seeing Frank. He had finally seen the bad part about him, he had finally seen what everyone else did. Everything would be revealed when they met again.

He wasn't sure if they were friends anymore. He wasn't sure if he was not friends with him on the grounds of killing, or the grounds that he made Mikey as upset as he had. He did not tell anyone about him, would he have? Would he have told the police of his existence after he got Gerard home safely? He wasn't sure. Maybe deep down they were still friends. But even if they were, it wouldn't matter. Frank was going to jail and Pete was staying home.

Everyone would move on and he would get put right back where he was. He didn't want Mikey to leave. His life would be so dull, he would be so dull. Everything was dull. His life was dull. His existence was dull. Even his most passionate feelings were dull. It was now a dull ache, the act of loving Mikey. It didn't hurt as much. But he was still debating killing himself. There would be nothing worth living for. He didn't have a lover, any friends, no matter how much he tried to think that he did, thinking critically he did not. Even though he had an extremely social job. But he was content as of now. He would see, when Mikey went home, when all of the dust settled. He wondered if he would make it past this week. Time would tell. Time would tell. He sighed and Mikey looked even more terrified as Armani emerged, shoving her gun in her pocket.

“All clear,” she reported to them, voice tense as her eyes slipped between the two men who then looked at each other. Pete let Mikey grab his hand and lead him in. It was weird to be in a house that he had lived in before and have it be a crime scene now.

It had become Gerard and Frank's but with very small touches. There were their coats, a few sweaters, stuff in the cupboards that he would never eat and never use. Stuff on the counters that he would not dream of putting there. There was a sort of disorganization that Pete was not familiar with. Mikey was digging into his skin, looking at his brother's life from the past few weeks, reminded that Pete helped him build it. He was getting bad memories and he leaned on Pete to give him strength.

But Pete only offered something of a notification. He was apart of the bad thing, and Mikey was starting to alienate from his comfort zone. Pete noticied this and tried to keep his fear down. He had thought he had patched it up enough to enjoy his last day with him, but he figured not. Armani lead them to the couch, business like attitude kicking into hard drive with her nervousness.

“Alright, you guys will sit here, I shall see them come in, with me team, through the security cameras, we will have people positioned around in the near vicinity to make sure you are okay. If you could get a confession and for him to hand over Gerard peacefully that would be ideal. Try not to get him riled up, please,” she said, quickly running through all the steps they needed to know. She spoke with her hands a lot, jittery and sweeping. She acted like she had all of this under control, but really, she was just as scared as the two of them.

Mikey watched eagerly, listening to her swift words but Pete was watching him, biting his lip. Mikey's eyes were wide and trained on her, nodding along with what she said to him about Frank and Gerard, listening intently to everything that he should and shouldn't do. He was nervous, he was sure that Mikey was, too. But Mikey was more eager than anything. He wanted to see his brother and he wanted to finally get Frank. Mikey had his entire future riding on this. He was lucky that it seemed so entirely easy. He wondered if Frank would put up a fight, or if he would just let Gerard go. He wondered if Gerard even wanted to go anymore. They were always exceptionally capricious. He wanted this to be over. He was so tired and he was just ready to go home, even if home did not have Mikey in it.

With that thought, Pete released his hand from Mikey's, scooting over and paying attention to Armani, who was still talking. She was primarily looking at Mikey, the part of the story that she knew, this barely involved Pete so it made sense, what she was doing.

She then clapped her hands, brisk voice clipped with a sort of anxiety. She was as worried as Pete was. Her eyes were icy and she radiated fear. He realized that this was important to her, too. Frank had taken someone away from her, too. Mikey noticed that Pete's hand was gone and got it back, squeezing it periodically as Armani talked again.

“They should be here, soon, just stay here and remember what I told you.” And with that Armani was out the door, talking on her phone to the other police officers around the building. She was the one coordinating this, but she had so many other people from the Portland PD helping her out with her plan of capturing the two.

Gerard would be evaluated, interrogated and released, depending on whether or not he had gone insane with this entire thing. Frank would be held in custody and interrogated, then there would be the trial. Pete could not believe that they were doing this. He could not believe that this was going to be the end of the story for so many people, him included. He wondered what it would be like tonight. Would it be over, or would there still be some story left for him?

 

 

"Frankie, can't we just run away again?" Gerard asked him, whine deep in his throat. He wanted to leave, he wanted to get away. He was itching to get away from this all, it would be so easy. They weren't trapped or anything, they weren't cornered, yet Frank was still continuing to play with chance, taking them back home. He wanted Frank forever. He just wanted this to be over so they could make their getaway. It would be so easy just to run away again and be together forever. But Frank was solidarity at it's finest. He believed that fate existed, that this was fate and he was finally getting what was coming to him. He had tried to kill Gerard. This was what was best for him, best for them. He wanted to be with him, but he was not best for him. He wanted what was best for him. And this was it.

"Baby boy, I can't. I don't think we can do this anymore. It's the end of the line," he said to his lover, looking straight ahead. If he turned his head, turned his neck, it would break. He would see Gerard in all his desperation, in all his sadness. He would see the bruises and the marks he left on the person he loved and he would feel terrible. He already felt terrible about it. He knew that this was the end because this was what he got. He got him taken away. He was greedy, he was a monster. Gerard deserved better, Gerard deserved a real life. He didn't want to ruin him anymore. He wanted to make him happy. He wanted to give him away to the people that could truly take care of him. He knew that Gerard was a grown man but god damn it, he just wanted him to get what he deserved. And he wanted to finally stop running from his punishment. He knew that he was a bad thing. He knew that he was due to get his karma. He was a bad thing, he was a monster. He deserved to rot in hell for hurting Gerard. He deserved to rot in hell for hurting everyone around him.

"I want you, Frank I want you," Gerard said, choking up. He was crying.

Frank felt dirty, he was not good enough for Gerard. He just kept hurting him. He was going to continue to hurt him. He regretted being with him so deeply. Gerard made him happy but only because he was selfish. Gerard was the light and Frank was the mud on scraped hands and knees. He just kept hurting him and he didn't want to hurt anyone anymore. Frank shut his eyes, he would be stained with that image if he looked so he wasn't going to risk it. He didn't like to see him cry. He didn't like being the thing that made him cry. He was always the thing to make him cry. His eyelashes batted against his cheeks, his heartless eyes straining away from Gerard's sweet broken angel face.

"I want you to be happy," Frank admitted. He looked down at the hallway, farther away with every foot. It seemed almost endless. Was this what hell was like? Was this how he would spend eternity? He had paid, he had paid for hurting him. Gerard went to touch at the bruises, self conscious of the cosmic purple that littered his skin. Frank had done it, but he forgave him, by God he forgave him if it meant that he could be with him. He didn't care if he tried to kill him, he didn't care if he wasn't in love with him. He just wanted to be with him. No matter what that entailed. This was all his fault, this was his doing. He had made Frank not want him now. He was a snitch, he was no better than his brother was. He was no better than scum. He regretted everything, he just wanted to be with Frank. He would kill for Frank.

"You make me happy," he said. He did not want to go home, he did not want Frank to send him back home. He wanted to stay here with Frank. Frank was his home. Frank was it for him. He was all he wanted. He was all he needed. He was the best thing that ever happened to him. He bit his lip, still staring at Frank. Frank was not looking at him. He had closed his eyes, he must be tired. He must have been tired of Gerard. He suddenly felt self conscious. He felt like he was a burden on Frank. Because he was, he had gotten them caught, he had gotten them captured. They were going to get captured. And Frank was going to go to jail.

He was a bad person. He had killed people and he had betrayed his lover. He was going to rot in hell. He had killed people, he had hurt them. He was a bad person. He was to blame. He could have saved Frank. He could have made him a better person but he was selfish. He wiped his face on his shoulder. After all he had done to Frank, though, he was sure he loved him more. He was sure he was the one that was truly cut up about this. Maybe Frank had stopped loving him because of what he did, because he was the one who had finished their adventure. Maybe he never loved him as much as Gerard did. He sighed again, the silence filling the hallway.

He felt like he was home again already. He didn't want to go home yet. He felt like he was years ago, in that hallway with the chipped paint and the chip on his shoulder, just moving in, weeks before. He remembered this. When he hated Frank, he wished he hadn't gone past that. He wished he'd always had just a hatred for his neighbor, but no. Curiosity was his crime. Killing was the end result. Frank wished they hadn't gone past that hatred. But not for the reasons Gerard would have thought. It was because of the bruises on his neck and the bodies in the graves. The bodies Frank put there. Frank loved him so much he didn't know what to do with himself. He usually just destroyed things, and love, love was something creative, creating. He was not used to that. He was not used to the purity that was Gerard. He should have known that this wasn't going to work out. From the day he met Gerard everything seemed off. He was off. He was so in love with him he wanted to die with what he said next.

"I'm sorry," Gerard said, voice whispering into the silence, limping towards its death. They both knew that those words held too much weight to mean anything. But they meant everything. Even if that everything was useless. Frank grabbed his hand, standing in front of their deaths. In front of their door. He didn't say anything, he really had nothing to say. He wanted to explain to Gerard all the reasons that he was wrong, but he would just make him cry again. He would just make himself want to die again. They didn't know if a threat was actually there, behind the door. But Pete hadn't picked up at there were the few days that they had together still, four it was now after the night had passed. He had to come to Gerard's rescue sometime.

He wanted to erase all of that, he wanted Frank and he wanted him forever. He did not want to be saved. Even if he went to the worst part of hell, he would go with Frank and he would never be happier. And he had fucked it all up. He had snitched on Frank. He was no better than Mikey. He was no better than nothingness. His brother was going to be waiting for him, he was going to see that he was a bad person. From the start he was a bad person. He was going to make everyone around him hate him till the only person that could not get away was himself. He wanted to run away. He wanted to just run away with Frank. Why couldn't he just do that? Why couldn't god be merciful?

"Forgive me. Please, I didn't mean to do this. I was just scared. I'm sorry," Gerard started talking, fast lips speaking loosely as he stared away from Frank. He wanted to right this wrong, he wanted to make Frank love him again. He was ashamed of what he had done. He had ruined it all. Frank must hate him. He was selfish. He was so selfish. All he wanted was Frank. And now he was tearing them apart. He was sending his lover to jail. He would never see him again. His head spun with that thought. He would never see him again, he would never touch him again. He just wanted to love him. He just wanted to be with him. He just wanted to run away. Did Frank not see the severity of their situation? Did Frank not see that he was sorry? Was he punishing him? Did he have to beg to stay with him? Was he going to leave him? Of course he was going to leave him, you don't stay with a person you don't love. He didn't want to leave Frank. He didn't want Frank to leave. He was sorry. He was sorry for doing this to him. He felt terrible about it. Did Frank know he felt terrible about it?

"I tried to kill you," Frank said to him, closing his eyes again, squeezing them shut. He looked annoyed at Gerard. Really he was just trying to wrap his head around this. He was so important, didn't he see how important he was? He was apologizing for being scared when he tried to kill him? Gerard was unbelievable. Gerard was so beautiful. He kept going and talking though, mouth quivering with words too heavy for his lips, too heavy for his heart.

"I know and I'm sorry. I'm sorry for overreacting and spending all that time away and ruining your life. And I'm sorry. I'm not worth it. Please don't leave me, run away with me. Please, please, I need you. Frankie, I need you," he begs knees growing weak, legs turning into jelly, quivering like his lips. Frank put his arms around Gerard, shaking and falling and starting to cry. He looked to him, rubbing his back with a soothing hand and a cool voice ringing out.

"Shh, baby. Shh. You're so important. You're everything to me. You know that? And I want you to be happy, I just want you to be happy, baby," he said to him and it was the quietest whisper of hope that Gerard breathed into his being, took into his body and turned it into something crystallized. Frank wanted him still, he wanted him to be happy.

"Let's run away, Frankie. We can just leave, right now. Please, Please Frankie. I need you. I need to run away with you," he said the desperation turning into excitement. He was ready to start this other chapter of their life, of their murders. He just wanted to be with him. Frank sighed, exasperated. He was going to have to reject Gerard's idea, explain why he was rejecting his idea. He was going to have to tell him that they weren't going to work out. It would rip him apart. It would rip Gerard apart.

"Baby, I don't want you to run away. I want you to go home," Frank said, closing his eyes again. Gerard's smile fell as he failed to understand what Frank was saying, what Frank was implying. He looked at Frank, watching him, waiting for him to speak again. But Gerard himself beat him to it. "Are you leaving without me?" he asked his lover. He could not imagine life without Frank. He could not imagine life as it was.

"No, no baby. I'm gonna give you back to them, I'm gonna hand myself in. You're gonna be happy, baby," he said, slowly, digesting the words himself. He was going to kill himself without Gerard. He was going to die. He knew it. He would waste away. He would rot. It was just a matter of time.

"But-but, Frankie," Gerard started, smile twitching, false, he let out a dry chuckle, nervous, "You make me happy," he said to him. His voice seemed more feeble than it usually was.

"I'm not good for you, baby," he said, biting his lip. His eyes seemed to open but only for him to look at the ground and squeeze them again. He did not want to see, he did not want to give himself away.

"I'm not scared of you, Frank! Not anymore, it's okay. We're okay," Gerard tried to insist, grabbing at Frank's shoulders. He wanted to let Frank know that they were good, they were okay. They were in love. Right? They were in love and people in love stayed together. Frank could not leave him, they were in love. They were supposed to be together forever. Frank promised forever. Murder was forever. They were forever. The scars on their hands meant forever. They had to be forever. Gerard needed forever.

"Baby, I love you. But I tried to kill you. You deserve better, you deserve love" Frank said slowly, letting Gerard grab at his shoulders, closer to him than he had been in a long time, in a few days. Felt like centuries.

"And I love you! Now can we just fucking go already! You make me happy, you will always be the one thing to make me happy. I love you! I want you!" he ended in almost hysterical screams. He was so scared of being without him. It had been so long since he truly slept alone, since he had been alone. He wanted Frank, Frank was all he wanted. He was sure that this was just his way of punishing him for telling Pete. He wanted to punch himself in the face, he wanted Frank to choke him again. He wanted to hurt. He was bad, he was a bad person. He deserved to hurt. He deserved to die.

He did not deserve happiness, he deserved death. He deserved hell. He had hurt his lover. He wanted to marry him. He wanted to be with him for the rest of his life and he had turned on him. Now Frank didn't want to take him back. He wanted to spend his life with him, but Frank would not allow that. He was not good enough. He was okay with being not good enough. But he was not okay with Frank being so selfless. He had done bad things, too. He had been a bad person, too. He didn't deserve happiness. They were both bad, they deserved each other. He just wanted to be good enough. He just wanted to be good enough for Frank to love him. Frank took his face in his hands, off into the distance and upset at nothing but himself.

"I love you, baby. You deserve happiness," he said to him, getting his hand on the doorknob to the house they weren't a part of anymore. All because of what Gerard did, four days before. He was so stupid. He was so selfish. He was a baby. He wasn't good enough for Frank. He wanted to die. He wanted to be killed by Frank. That was all he deserved. Death.

Frank kissed his lips, removing his hand to cup his face again, like dew in a petal, but worse, less clean. He was dirty. Frank was pure, Frank was true, Frank was real. He looked into his wide eyes, filled with nothing but love and sorrow and he started to cry again. He closed his eyes, feeling the eyelashes brush against his palm. They were so good together. They were meant to be together. They had to be. Frank and him stood like that for a moment, remembering and celebrating their existence together. As supernovas, as lovers, as time bombs. They were not meant to be together, they were too volatile, the were too explosive. He was nothing, he was nothing compared to his beauty. He was true and clean and pure and Gerard just wanted to love him. He just wanted to be able to love him, be loved by him. He wanted to rewind everything and he wanted to go back to that day, the day that they first truly met. He wanted it to be better. He wanted to be better. If they just changed a little detail, something minuscule, they could have had everything. They could have had it all. Anything was better than this. This was hell at its finest.

They pulled apart after a moment, eyes closed like electric shock, the best kiss they had ever had but only due to the severity of the situation. He wanted to kiss him again. He wanted to think that that wasn't their last kiss. He wanted to notice the way he woke up, stretching his eyelids, dark and gaunt eyes crying to him from a few inches away in the sunlight. He wanted to know what he looked like waking up one last time. He wanted to see him cumming one last time, face framed in ecstasy. He just wanted him, one last time. Forever. He wanted to exist with him, forever. He wanted him forever. But forever was greedy, everything was greedy.

"I-" Gerard started just to be cut off by another kiss to his soft and slightly parted lips. He just wanted another kiss, he just wanted another Frank. For the rest of his life, for all of eternity. He wanted to make this right, he could have made it right if destiny would just let him.

"The best, baby. You deserve your happiness," Frank said, littering him with kisses. Like he was reminding him to look for it, to look for happiness. He felt like a black hole. Like there were tiny pieces of hate floating around in his veins. He wanted to be with him, he wanted to exist with him, forever. But he was selfish, he was not good enough for him. They couldn't run from this anymore. They couldn't outrun the bad things that they were trying to get away from. They had to face their fears. It wouldn't work anymore. They had to face it, they had to just face it.

Frank wanted to run away with him so badly. But he was scared out of his mind about hurting Gerard, he was terrified of succeeding in killing him. He wanted to keep him far away from him and safer than he could have ever made him. All he did was hurt him and Gerard didn't deserve that, no one deserved that. He deserved the best, he deserved the world. He couldn't do it, he didn't want to do it. He had to detach himself and leave the rest to Mikey. He had to hope that someone else was better for Gerard than he was.

"I want you. I don't care, I want you," Gerard said, lip trembling as he pulled away to look at Frank. He was betrayed, wide hazel eyes framed with furrowed brows.

"Shh, don't cry, baby," Frank advised in a whisper, moving his hair from his face, sweaty and wet with tears and red. Vibrant red like the time they were on the run together. Red like the sunset, red like the fire that would engulf him for eternity for his crimes. Gerard still looked like he was on the verge of tears, eyes wide and hurt and betrayed. He wanted to make this right.

He wanted Frank to want him again. His entire body seemed to vibrate with the nothingness that he was filled with. He just kept trying, futile attempts getting more meek as he began to break down. He felt himself chipping away. Frank was the best person he had ever known, he was so cool, he was so loving. He was Gerard's wildest dreams. He had to try, one last time. He had to convince him, he had to. He would die if he had to spend the rest of his life with anyone less than him.

"I'm sorry. Please, Frank, please know I'm sorry. I didn't- I didn't mean to tell anybody about this. I didn't mean to tell him. Please, forgive me." He was shaking, he was sure he was going to throw up, Frank watched him wit quiet eyes, too calm for the storm that was tearing up Gerard's insides. He kissed him, that seemed to shut him up. He was shutting him up. He pulled away from him, licking his lips as he assessed the situation.

"I forgive you, Gee. Don't ever ask forgiveness. I tried to kill you," that was just the mumbled part as he searched his face, splotchy and red and upset. He was trying to get it through his head that this was not his fault, but Gee wasn't getting it. He didn't realize that Frank was a terrible person. And that broke his heart.

"You don't want me anymore," Gerard shook, to his knees, letting Frank take him into his arms as he collapsed, sobbing into his curled up and pitiful body. Frank held him in his arms, trying to hold himself when he was falling himself. He wasn't going to survive this. He wasn't going to get past this.

He wondered, fleeting thoughts thinking about the happiness on his face if they were to go away, if they were going to get into that car together. He wanted him so much that he was really considering just running away with him again. But then he put himself in line. He thought about the screams of that pillow on his face. He turned sour at that thought. He wanted to love Gerard, but sometimes love was better from afar. Sometimes it was better when it was quieter. He was better from afar.

"I want you," he whispered to the nothingness that was growing inside of him more than he was to Gerard.

"I want you. I will always want you," he repeated, grabbing him closer, hoisting him up, trying to get him to stand. It was his apology to his lover, it was him saying sorry. He was so sorry. He was so sorry that he wasn't good enough for him, that he was destructive. That he was the worst thing that had ever happened to him. He wanted to go back, reverse the clock about four weeks, before he met Gerard, before he knew what he was going to do to him, before he even slept with him the day before he moved in. He wished that he was safe for him. He wished that they worked well together. He wished, he wished, he wished. But they didn't. Frank was nothing but a hazard. And Gerard was an angel.

Gerard was so kind and so good to everything around him. Frank was surprised that he had not broken on those first few hours, the first few minutes. Gerard deserved happiness. Gerard deserved nothing of what Frank had given him. He shushed him, cooing softly as he held him near, trying to get him to understand this by just touching him. He didn't understand this. He didn't understand that Frank was bad. It went over his head.

"I love you," he said to him, heart mustering the words before it turned into dust. He wanted him to know that he loved him, that he was doing this for him. Gerard just continued to cry into him. He continued to sob into him. He didn't understand. Frank hoped he could get over him, He hoped that Mikey was up for the task that was Gerard. Because Frank would not be there to help him, to glue back on the pieces that fell off of him. He wanted to be able to, but he was usually the one that made the parts fall off in the first part.

"Frankie, I'm scared," Gerard said. His stomach was doing flips, it was doing little acrobatics. He didn't want Frank to go to jail, he didn't want to be their demise. They always thought Frank would fuck it up, but no, it was Gerard. Gerard was the bad thing. Frank was so good. Frank was so selfless. He stood up, sniffling and wiping his face with the jacket sleeve.

The early morning had gotten blood on it, the victim having held onto his hand as he died. Frank was ready to leave. But it was a slow death, just dying as the morning bled in. He liked killing. He liked the adrenaline, and he felt no remorse for who he killed. They were fun to play with, little toys that he was moving around for his own pleasure. He did not feel bad for killing people, it was more like he was just there to make them feel better as they died. He had met death, he knew what it was and that it hurt. So he was going to be merciful to his victims. It didn't take anything out of his day to be nice to them.

Frank on the other hand just wanted to get breakfast and the diners were just opening, he did not want to get anything on him, so they could actually go eat. They ate a nice breakfast together, cherishing the moments, tired but happy, happy but sick feeling. They knew what was coming and they relished in the time when it didn't. Gerard thought that they were together forever, he thought that they were just going to run away again. He was met with opposition as Frank told him the plan that he had devised in all his selflessness. The plan being, he go to prison, Gerard go home.

He did not like that one. But now, as they went to open the door, that was the only one they were getting. His brother would be inside of there, he would look at him and see the killer he was. He would use his x-ray vision and he would see that he was bad. He was good at those kind of things. He didn't mind killing, he minded what Mikey thought. He wanted his brother to love him, he wanted to keep him safe from this image of him, from the truth of him. He wanted to protect him. Was this how Pete felt? He didn't want to see him, he was dirty. He didn't want to see him, he would take Frank away. They would take Frank away. He looked at him, studying his face. He was all he would ever see when he went to bed and when he woke up. He was the only person he would ever love. He just wished that they had more time together. He was beautiful. He was already out of Gerard's reach.

He just wanted to hold him again, he wanted to be in that car with him again, holding him, loving him. He didn't care what he had done, everything seemed so minuscule now. Death was just another game, just another fork in the road. Gerard had been near it and he saw it for what it was. There was no mystery. There was just death. There was just him and Frank.

He ached with the loneliness. He didn't want to spend another night without him. He did not want to spend his entire life without him. Had he reached the apex of living? He felt sick again, this was happening, this was real. They were going to turn themselves in, they were going to be alone again. Gerard did not want to be alone again. He was so scared of being alone. He put his hand over Frank's, turning the nob, studying the tattoos and calluses on his hands. He wanted him forever, he was sure he could not have him forever. But he wanted him, God did he want him. He wanted him so much he felt like he was going to break apart with the very thought of being anywhere but right next to him. He was already breaking apart. It was just a matter of time before he crumbled to dust. He loved him so much.

"I love you," Gerard said as the door started to creak open, voice small and almost forgotten, like the words were already foreign. The world seemed to turn slower. He was lost in how he looked. His feelings choked in his throat and his palm itched. Frank promised forever and he had given him nothing.

He didn't blame him, he couldn't blame him. He was selfless. He was being so selfless. His skin seemed to radiate, like an angel. tallying up victims like a hallow around him in a soft glow.

"I love you, too," Frank said to him, turning to look at him, letting the door open up so they could walk in.

Gerard grabbed his hand as he walked in, sick to his stomach and missing him already. There was an ache in his stomach and he wondered if this was how Mikey had felt after he left, if he still felt this way.

No one would ever feel this way, Gerard was bad. This was suffering. This was hell and this was tailored for him. No one would ever feel this bad. His hand was hot with God knows what but still he grabbed harder, pin pricks of sorrow going through every surface of his hand that was touching Frank's.

Forever. He said forever. He promised forever. Gerard walked slow to his doom.

 


	21. The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short and very inexcusable. But, boy, am I ready for my break from this.  
> Third one up next! Woooh! I have no idea what I should write for this. Heck yeah.

He pitied his brother if this was the constant feeling that he had. He wondered if they would believe that he was innocent and if they didn't, what would happen to him.

He was kind of worried of how life would be when he got home. Would people treat him differently? Would he be interviewed by people, show up on the news? He wondered if he would get his job back.

But he didn't care about that. He just wanted Frank to be safe. He just wanted them to be together.

He vaguely wondered, stepping into his house, the place that had been a prison for a few days and a paradise the other few weeks, if Frank would be put to death.

He certainly had an impressive black book of people he had killed. He had killed almost sixty. Hell, he couldn't even keep track anymore he had killed so many. But did that warrant death? Or just a life sentence?

He didn't want Frank to die. He grabbed at his hand more, holding onto him, sweating and grateful and feeling sick to his stomach, trying to hold the other hand over the bruises that he had from just the press of a pillow against his mouth.

He was trying to clutch onto his lover with every last once that he had. He needed to be with him. He had to be with him. Just for a little while longer, if that was all that he was warranted. He had to be with him. A little while longer.

He shuddered, closing his eyes as they stepped into the living room. He didn't want to remember that, he didn't want to see his brother sitting there. He felt a knot in his stomach and he trembled at the thought of him, taking off his skin with his eyes, going into his brain and taking out that girl, taking out Natalie and that man from before.

He could still feel the crusted blood on his hands. His brother, he would find that. With his infrared vision, he would see him as he truly was.

He didn't want to let go of Frank, he didn't want his eyes to open and show him the truth. And besides, his skin felt better when that was all he was focused on. His skin felt rough and loving, he remembered the nights that he had spent being explored by his hands, soft on his skin, gentle on his sins.

But he heard his gasp, he heard him, rushing towards him. But he locked it out and he held Frank's hand. He only focused on Frank's hand. He had to, it was his life source. It was the only thing keeping him from throwing up.

He didn't want him to die. He didn't want to be the thing that killed him. He would like knowing that he was out there, loving him, holding him in his dreams. He didn't want him to hate him, he was going to hate him.

He wanted him. He wanted to keep him. But he would settle for looking at him from afar.

No matter how much it hurt. No matter how much he was already dying.

He held tighter to Frank's hand as Mikey threw his arms around his shoulders. He couldn't hold onto his brother as tightly as he wanted, but he needed to stay alive to hug him anyway.

He didn't hear what he said, he was focusing on how Frank looked when he woke up, going through all of the good times, savoring him as much as he could. He didn't even look at Frank now, because he knew what Frank would look at him like.

He would hate him. He would not want him anymore. He already didn't. But he was nice enough to stay there, holding onto him.

Mikey was for the future, a few more moments of peace with him and the Frank in his mind and then Mikey would be addressed with open eyes. He would wait, he had been waiting for a month, he could do it some more.

But for now, it was him and Frank. Even if that Frank was already beginning to be warped by what Gerard thought of him. He was still Frank.

They were still Frank and Gerard for a while.

He felt himself being tugged away from his lover, his grip slipping. Not for much longer.

But Mikey could wait. He could give them a few more moments, give him a few more moments.

But Mikey could not, because he wrenched his brother away from the vicinity of Frank.

He felt it immediately, like being plunged in ice water. Like a shock to the senses, jarring his body.

He let his eyes fling open, death in his oracles, looking to his brother who was smiling at him, wide and unknowing.

He smiled back, years of ease coming with it. It was still a little forced, but he could not resist his brother, even when he was at his worst. Frank watched from the doorway and he looked back at him, almost like he was asking for approval.

He was hesitant and he did not want to move away from his safety net. He had only ever done anything with Frank. Nowadays at least, this was new. Like walking on his own.

He needed to see him again, one last time. Would this be the last time?

Frank didn't have time to react to his gaze before Mikey was tugging him again, to the couch, reluctance setting into Gerard's shaky bones as he moved further and further away from the person he loved, this would be the last separation. This was the last everything for him.

He wanted to ignore it and celebrate seeing his brother. He had been so worried about him. He had been scared that he was damaged beyond belief because of all of this.

Thankfully he looked pretty sane, if not a little bit gaunt.

He hadn't seen his brother in ages. He looked thinner, maybe even livelier. Definitely more angular. But he still looked sickly, like the sun had not shown in a while for him.

“Gerard! You're safe,” his brother sighed against him, going to hug him with full force.

He missed Mikey and he relished the contact he got. He was glad he was okay, he was glad that Pete did the trick and took care of him, better than Gerard ever could. Better than Gerard ever had.

“I missed you,” he said, truthfully, pulling away from him and examining him.

“He won't hurt you anymore, Gee! We're going to take you home,” he explained to him and Gerard felt the tug of his gaze down to the hairs of his neck but he did not look back and Frank did not look forward. They stayed away from each other's gazes.

Gerard needed his gaze.

Pete stepped forward, hesitantly, as if he were encroaching on a space that was not his own. He took Gerard's face in his hands, tilting it forward to look at the bruises that in his excitement, Mikey seemed to miss. Mikey moved away, sneaking a glance at Pete who was staring at his neck, moving it gingerly.

“What are these from?” he muttered, brown eyes concerned for Gerard.

Gerard covered it with his hand, ever since getting them covering them up as best as he could. He did not like the reminder, and he did not like reminding Frank.

He blushed, looking back to Frank who had his side leaning against the wall, closed off and arms folded. He was looking at his shoes with great interest. He was not meeting Gerard's gaze.

He looked back to Mikey and Pete who were crowding around him, concerned but not very helpful.

He felt claustrophobic, like he was going to be stolen by their chocolate gazes.

“F-Frank,” Gerard seemed to spit out, taking his time with the matter. He had no lie, and he hated the truth.

Mikey looked to Pete, as if he would know the answer, or some sort of explanation because he was clueless.

“Was this from a before time, or when he tried to kill you?” he asked, continuing to examine the bruises.

Mikey's eyes were inflamed with hurt, driven mad with caged anger. He remembered what Armani told him, he remembered that he shouldn't enrage Frank. He remembered that he shouldn't engage.

That made him more angry, the fact that he couldn't do anything about his brother being hurt. That he still couldn't protect him, even when he was now safe.

Oh, but he was getting even, he remembered. He was getting even with Frank. He was giving justice to his brother. Frank was going to jail and Gerard was safe now. Gerard would always be safe now.

He was so relieved to see him safe. But he still looked troubled. Gerard still looked caught up in some other era's problem. His eyes clouded with something like confusion, like he didn't know why he was there, or who they were.

Mikey hugged him again, closing his eyes against his older brother's much thicker shoulder. “You're safe now,” he repeated again.

Maybe he was trying to drill it into his own head. Maybe he was trying to get himself to understand that Gerard was okay.

That this was all over.

But the way that Gerard looked troubled, told Mikey that it was not all over. Nothing was ever truly over.

Gerard hugged Mikey back, holding on tightly, like he really did mean it. And he did, but he could not yank himself away from Frank, no matter how hard he tried. He tried to not look back. He tried to keep his eyes on Pete and Mikey. But it was hard, knowing that he was leaving behind the love of his life forever.

He was going to cry, his chin wobbled and he pursed his lips, trying to keep composure. He didn't want his brother to see him cry, he would know something was wrong.

He would know that he was a monster.

He felt uncomfortable in his own skin, writhing like an ant under a magnifying glass. He didn't want Mikey to know that he loved Frank, he would know that something was up.

He was going to cry. Oh, God, his eyes tickled with tears and his cheeks grew hotter and hotter until he finally burst against Mikey's shoulder, holding his brother tighter in his arms.

He was never so relieved to be touching someone in his life. At least his hug could conceal the truth behind why. Just for a little while.

Gerard was going to break under the stress of a little while.

“Gee? What's wrong?” Mikey asked, turning his face to look at his brother, holding him at arms length.

Gerard refrained from looking back at Frank. He knew his eyes were on him already. He knew his expression was blank.

“I'm so relieved that you're here,” he almost lied. He was happy, but relieved, far from it.

Or maybe he was both, or neither. He was mainly just confused.

He loved his brother and he missed his brother. But the closeness of his brother to him pulled Frank farther and farther away.

He was beginning to feel Frank fall away as Mikey clung back to his skin.

“We're gonna take you home, okay? You're gonna be okay. He won't hurt you anymore,” he said, soft and crooning, speaking to his brother in simple terms.

Gerard needed simple, Gerard needed comfort. And Mikey was readily available to give it to him. He felt selfish using his brother like this. But he was always selfish, it was just a matter of feeling to get him to realize it.

He refrained from looking back at Frank.

“You and Pete?” he asked, drying his tears with the heel of his hand. He kept his other one neatly clenched, he was not explaining a blood oath of love to his brother. He wouldn't be able to look him in the eye if he did.

Mikey looked to Pete, troubled waters in his eyes, not unlike Gerard's. Pete looked back for a fleeting moment and there was something unspoken between the two.

“No. Pete's staying here,” Mikey said in a soft voice, gulping down any back story that Gerard would have got.

“O-oh,” he uttered, knowing to leave it alone till they got back home when all the skeletons in the closets were sure to fall out. He was scared of them falling out, they would hit him on the head when they did.

He looked from Pete to Mikey again, not sure where to go from there, the silence was thicker than the blood spilled in front of his eyes so many times. He adjusted his collar with one hand.

“S-so, Pete did you tell Mikey about-” he asked, voice feeble, being carried by Pete's interjection.

His eyes flicked to him, sticking his hands in his pockets. “About your rescue wish? Yeah, well, at least he found out,” he said, awkwardly swaying back and forth.

“Oh, he did?” Gerard asked him.

Mikey swallowed something, letting it fall to the pit of his stomach. “So, you knew Pete?” he asked him. He seemed to swallow something else he wanted to say.

Gerard's eyes went a little soft for his brother. He pitied him for not being in the know, but obviously it was for the best. Obviously it was so he would not know the monster that Gerard was, that he had become.

“Yeah. Frank's friend,” he shrugged, massaging his way over the shoulder across from the hand he was using. He slung his arm back to it's original position.

He was closed off from his brother and he felt Frank's eyes on him. He felt his eyes on the whole party and he shivered with the weight of his gaze.

He wanted to look back, but he refrained. He needed to move on and he was starting as soon as possible.

Mikey sighed and looked away from the little group standing. He took a look at his phone, fiddling with it for a bit before he brought it to his ear. “Armani? They're here,” he said to the receiver, sniffing and not looking at Gerard or Pete as he did so.

He himself wondered if the interaction would have gone on any longer if the awkward topic of Pete and him hadn't been brought up. He wondered what more he could have said to his brother in the presence of Frank, standing there and watching everyone.

Almost like he was just an observer rather than a person.

It was unnerving, knowing that he was still there. Knowing that he couldn't talk to him, knowing that he was still an entity that would be present in his life and his brother's life for a few more days, few more weeks, maybe.

He just wanted it to be over with.

He was tired of this all. And now, with Gerard safe and right in front of him there was another thing that was making him sick.

There was Pete. He was glad that he was going home, he was glad that he was taking Gerard back where he would be safe. But God, was he scared of losing Pete.

He was scared that this carefully stitched up situation would burst at the seems once he got home. It was the beginning of the end and everything still felt much too shaky for comfort.

Armani was up in moments, backup police with her.

She was surely hiding a smile, smug and proud of herself. She was trying to professional and not anger Frank.

She was really glad, and really surprised, that he was so stoic. She just didn't want to poke the bear.

She smiled wryly at Frank, the tension able to be cut with a knife.

No one else came near them as they made this transaction besides the cops right behind her, ready to stop any of his funny business.

But hwas not making any funny business. Whenever she looked at him he was a blank slate, sad hazel eyes dark and brooding.

Was he planning anything? She hoped to God he wasn't planning anything. She snuck a glance at Gerard rotting against the safety of his brother. He hid behind him, eyes wide and trained on Frank, melancholy and electrically charged like always.

He didn't deserve even half of what he was dealt the past month. She just hoped, for the sake of everyone involved, that this was the end.

But something hung in the air that told her, she would not be so lucky as to have that available to her.

Still, she hoped.

She let the other officers lead him away and sighed. She looked to the shambled and weary group in front of her.

Mikey's boyfriend, Pete, or something like that, hesitantly snuck his arms around Mikey's shoulders. Mikey welcomed them with a sigh and Gerard sat down, blank and shocked expression, like he couldn't believe that anything was really happening.

She hoped to God that he was okay when they did the psychic evaluation.

They would all have much more trouble on their hands if something was wrong with him.

All parties looked blank, silence hanging in the air. A little bit like a chandelier. They knew that it would snap and fall, it was all just a matter of judging.

Armani cut the chord first. “It's over now,” she said, hands moving to clap on her thighs. She was awkward, not being as intimate with anybody.

She felt a weight lift from her shoulders as she said that. She knew that Ray, and all those other people who had been, and, or, would be killed by him, were now safe. They were now free.

Armani was the one to put people in jails, but she swore, that she was in a jail herself, put there by Frank Iero.

But now, the murderer was in captivity, put away and defeated. They could all rest easy now.

Gerard broke down, breaking the silence better than she could, sticking his face into his hands and starting to sob.

They were somewhat quiet, pitiful but private cries, muffled by the barrier.

Mikey broke away from Pete about a yard away, rushing to his brother who was sat on the couch, knees holding up elbows, elbows holding up hands who in turn held up happiness to the point of tears.

Gerard shook in his brother's arms, spindly and thin around him, stretched like a rubber band. He held in on himself, a great big ball of shaking sobs.

“I can't believe-” he started, broken from the get-go. Mikey petted his hair, newly red and quite a good look on him.

Armani hadn't noticed that he had a haircut, maybe because she hadn't looked at him as much as she did Frank, who's own haircut she recognized but didn't quite comment on.

Maybe it was to hide themselves, she was sure that it had worked on the people of Portland. And they had stayed hidden.

She wondered how this remarkable luckiness got through to the police. They could have stayed on the run forever. Gerard would have suffered forever if not for Mikey.

He looked so happy, so worn out on the shoulder of his brother.

She was not sure if Mikey could shoulder him much longer, he himself was so tired.

She had seen tired people, frustrated people, working themselves to the bone. She had seen them going through hell and she saw it now in Gerard and Mikey.

She saw it in their arms, weak and ropey around each other. They would go home and everything would be over.

She pushed the feeling of beginning out of her system. This was the end, this was the end, she tried to convince herself.

It had to be, she was not strong enough anymore for another round with the murderer.

Gerard sighed against his brother, like it hurt his lungs to breath like he was. It was a sharp pain, the pain of somebody fragile.

Gerard was so fragile.

Pete looked to his lover with his brother, not jealous of the transaction. This was not his fight. But from the look on his face, she knew that he was still entangled in this.

She walked forward to the three men, eyes scanning over all of their faces as they noticed her. Gerard looked up from his brother, big eyes innocent.

He was so small, he was so wiped of everything. He was a blank canvas.

Armani smiled at him, small and sort of pitying. She felt terrible this had to happen to him. She felt terrible this had to happen to all of them.

Gee just kept replaying Frank in his mind. Frank, the love of his life, taken away from him. He wasn't even upset at it.

He moved to what he had said in the living room. His heart was burning. Frank was so good to him, Frank was so amazing.

Why couldn't other people see that?

He was a murderer, sure. But he was Frank. He was good to Gerard, he was so nice to Gerard.

He wanted to cry again, he wanted Frank back.

He felt sick to his stomach. It was all sinking in, like waves, crashing around on his body. He felt the cold air around him, the air that Frank usually filled.

He wanted him. He wanted him so much more, more than he ever had before. He missed him already.

He wanted to talk but he felt his throat closing. He managed to get his question out. With minimal stuttering. But he still felt hollow. “I-is Frank gonna be in prison, for like, life?” he asked Armani, sickness in his stomach at her answer.

She smiled at him, nodding fervently. “Yup!” she said, like that was a good thing.

He looked away after nodding back, solemn and blank. His stomach knotted up. No one understood him, and he couldn't tell him.

He looked to Mikey again who clapped a hand on his shoulder. He smiled, thin and grim. His eyes were warm though. “That's a great thing,” he said to his brother, giving him some strength, some strength to calm down.

The world was looking up for Gerard and his smile at Mikey showed that he had finally started to shed his inhibitions. The very inhibitions that Frank had built around him.

For Gerard, this ordeal went a little longer. He would be taken home. He would have to be questioned, he would have to relive his hell for a little while longer.

But now it was not so bad because he could go home and forget that all. He would be okay now, Armani would make sure of it.

Everyone would make sure that Gerard was okay.

 

Pete sat by on the couch, when Armani was gone and the silence couldn't be broken by anything else besides the sounds of the Way brothers.

They were comparing prices, Gerard having decided that he had to go back home on a plane. They huddled around a laptop, ignoring Pete who sat across from them, staring out the window at the dreary Portland sky.

“Pete, are you sure you're not coming?” Gerard asked, already feeling more comfortable in himself when he was just with the two people that he knew well.

He still hurt, like a constant burn. He reminded himself that Frank was going back to Jersey, he was going to prison in Jersey. He was going to be tried in Jersey.

Gerard was just moving more towards him, but he felt like a betrayer to the life they had built, secluded away from everything. He had already betrayed Frank, he could not stay in this place, it was sticking to his skin.

He couldn't imagine spending the night here. He couldn't imagine anything so torturous.

He deserved it, Frank was sacrificing everything for him. He deserved to suffer.

He hid his feelings and Pete answered him with a shrug, Mikey went silent himself, next to his brother like a rigid statue. “No, I live here,” he said to him.

He ignored his eyes, looking at the ground and away from the crippling glance that Mikey dared to give him. They hadn't really talked with one another, not for hours. Not for years, it seemed. But Pete was always one for the over dramatics.

And Mikey was always one for grudges.

So he looked away again and Gerard frowned, looking at the screen. Mikey was already burning holes in the facade of the website.

Gerard looked back to Pete, getting the clue that something had happened and being too curious to stifle himself.

“Is something wrong between you two? Did something happen?” Gerard asked, looking from Pete to Mikey.

They acted like his stare was made of lazer beams into their fucking heads. They cringed away from it, Mikey tapping and clicking on some things, Pete just studying his shoes more.

“You know what's wrong with us,” Mikey mumbled to his brother.

In Gerard's head it all clicked. Pete was Frank's best friend. Mikey was Frank's sworn fucking enemy.

“Well, Pete isn't Frank.” Gerard said to him.

“I don't think you understand that such a close affiliation isn't something I want,” Mikey gritted his teeth. He ordered the tickets while Gerard was still looking back and forth at the two estranged lovers.

Gerard just shrugged at the two. He was too tired for this, he was too hollow for this.

He kept seeing Frank. He kept imagining Frank.

He would never forget Frank, he couldn't.

He would get him back. He had to get him back. He was his. Frank was his and he was nobody else's. He had to save him again. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't get him back.

No, he just wouldn't live. He couldn't after that, he wouldn't be able to stand it.

He could barely stand it now. The silence seemed to swirl about him, trap him. He had to get out of here, but he was stuck. He was stuck for now.

He felt sick, looking about at all the memories. He remembered the kitchen, kissing there, loving him there.

The bedroom down the hallway where they spent most of their memories. Even the bathroom, taking showers and talking together in the mornings, dyeing their hair the way that they did.

He remembered all the happy times, he didn't even care that one of the memories was him, suffocating.

All the other ones were amazing. Of course they were amazing, it was Frank and Gerard.

He poked at his neck a little while, closing the laptop, examining the bruises with his fingers. They hurt when he poked them, not like a pain, really. Just a reminder that he had let him get away.

That Frank had slipped from his fingers in such a vile way. Wasn't it only weeks before that he was worried that Frank would leave him in that hotel room. Wasn't it weird, that he was just taken away from him?

They existed for eternity, the existed for a blink of an eye.

He had to get him back, he had to get his lover back. He was too important to not be fought for.

He was going to be happy. He was going to get Frank back. They would be happy together.

No one else understood, but he would make them. He would get him back.

He had to.

 


End file.
